


What You Know Now

by MermaidMarie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon Rewrite, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 114,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: In which Season 4 Quentin wakes up in the past, the day of the Brakebills exam.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Is the set-up contrived? Maybe. Do I care? Definitely not.  
> This is my first attempt at a longer fic for The Magicians. I don't know how long it'll be, but as of right now, my current plans suggest pretty long. Anyway, concept: Season 4 Quentin having to navigate season 1 plot and characters, and what changes as a result.  
> Let me know what you think!

There was something different in the air. It took Quentin several groggy moments to place what exactly had shifted. He’d dreaded waking up every morning for months, but there was something lighter about today. He couldn’t put a finger on it.

_Magic._

Something… Something different about the magic in the air. Something brighter.

It was like the Library wasn’t rationing. Like magic was free and everywhere, filling the air with the kind of spark that Quentin hadn’t felt in… He didn’t know how long.

He sat up abruptly, ignoring the pounding headache. How was this possible?

Wait. Something else was different, too.

He glanced around, frowning. Where was he?

This bed… The window… The _Fillory and Further_ books lining the shelves…

It was his old apartment. His _college_ apartment. From before he’d ever gone to Brakebills. What was he doing here? And why was all his stuff here, too? He hadn’t seen this place in…

Quentin’s pulse quickened. Something was wrong.

There was a knock at the door.

“Q?” Julia’s voice. Thank God, _Julia_ , maybe she knew what was going on.

“Jules,” Quentin called, jumping up. He rushed to open the door. “Jules, are you…”

Quentin froze. There was something different about _her,_ too.

Julia smiled. “Good, you’re up. It’s almost time to go.”

“Go?” Quentin said slowly.

She nodded. “Yeah, to the Yale alumni interview. Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“The… alumni interview.”

Julia laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, dude. Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“Right,” Quentin said slowly. “Of course. I’ll just, um… grab my stuff, I guess.”

“You okay there, Q? You seem weird.” She paused. “Well, weirder than usual, anyway.”

Quentin tried to steady himself enough to look normal. What was normal, though? “I’m fine. Just, uh, just give me a minute.”

“Alright,” Julia said brightly. “I’ll be waiting outside. Hurry up, though.”

Quentin closed the door behind her as she walked away. The Yale interview. The magic in the air. He’d gone back in time. To before he’d ever even taken the Brakebills exam.

Honestly, what the _fuck?_


	2. Here We Go Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon rewrites are my favorite kind of fic to write. I love going through canon and trying to figure out what to alter. I'm having fun.  
> Anyway, let me know what you think!

Was this a dream? It felt so real.

Quentin’s mind was spinning. What did he remember? The Monster was possessing Eliot. They were in the _middle_ of trying to figure out how to save Eliot. Quentin had damn near given up… Alice and Kady were working on something with the Library. He’d finally managed to get word to Margo that Eliot was still alive. Josh had sent word that Margo had found a possible lead…

They were in the middle of the story. There was so much going on, so much to deal with. Quentin had been drained, at the end of his rope. But they weren’t _done_ yet.

Why was he here? How did he _get_ here?

He had to find a way to get back… Right? He couldn’t just leave everyone in the present.

But time travel was so weird. Maybe he was supposed to do something here, and then he’d end up right back where he was, like no time passed…

He absently wondered if he’d done something so horribly wrong that he’d somehow got launched back to the beginning, and he was going to get rejected from Brakebills this time around as a way to fix the present. Maybe everything that had happened had been his fault all along. Maybe he'd get his memory wiped, and everyone would be better off. 

“You’re so _quiet,_ Quentin,” Julia said as they walked.

“Just nervous, I guess,” Quentin replied, trying his best to remember what he was supposed to be doing at this point. He couldn’t even remember who he was supposed to _be._

“Are you still drunk?” she teased, shoving him in the arm. “You seem pretty dazed.”

Quentin chuckled weakly. “I might be.”

“We have _got_ to pull you together,” Julia replied, taking his arm. She led him to the door, and Quentin took a breath.

Could he pretend to be surprised by the dead body? He could try. He’d never been a great liar. And he was already so preoccupied with _whatever the fuck was happening_ that it was hard to be distressed by something that had been traumatic at the time but, honestly, paled in comparison to everything he’d gone through since.

He stifled a sigh as predictably, no one came to the door.

“Huh,” Julia said. “That’s strange. We’re here at the right time. Aren’t we?”

She knocked on the door and it unlatched. She shot Quentin a curious look as she pushed it open.

Quentin took a breath as he entered.

“Hello?” Julia called out. She paused. “We’re here for the grad school interview?”

Quentin’s eyes immediately went to the grandfather clock, just like they had last time. _Fillory._ He wondered what would happen if he tried to go into the clock now. Whether Fillory would let him come. How much it would alter events. Whether Martin Chatwin would just immediately kill him.

Julia screamed.

 _Here we go,_ Quentin thought to himself, already tired.

He tried to pretend he was less calm than he was as he called the cops. More for Julia’s benefit than anything else. She was pretty distracted by the horror of being surprised by a dead body, but Quentin didn’t want to clue her in on the fact that he was unfazed by it.

He hoped that his silence would read less like boredom and more like shock.

When Jane Chatwin came in, dressed like an EMT, Quentin nearly jumped up to talk to her. He figured if anyone would have answers here, it might be her.

They had to wait as the professor’s body was taken away. Quentin just hoped he’d have a chance to say _something_ to Jane.

“Can we go now?” Julia said, softly.

Jane nodded kindly. She glanced at Quentin.

Quentin hesitated as Julia headed for the door.

“Um, hey—” he started, walking towards Jane. “I wanted to, uh, ask you—”

“I’m sure you have questions,” Jane interrupted. “Now hardly seems like the time though, don’t you think?”

“I mean, I guess,” Quentin replied slowly.

“Q,” Julia called to him from the doorway.

Jane handed Quentin a folder with his name on it. “I’m sure you remember this. And where it’s meant to take you.”

Quentin took it hesitantly. “Yes. But will you…”

Jane nodded. “At my earliest convenience, dear. Now, run along. You’ll be late.”

He followed Julia, glancing back a few times. Jane definitely knew _something._

\---

Quentin took a deep breath, looking at the piece of paper in his hand. Any second now, it was going to blow off into the wind, guiding him to the Brakebills entrance exam. What exactly was he supposed to do here? Should he try and fix his past mistakes, try to alter the future to make it better? Or was he supposed to try and stay close to his former actions, preserve the past to avoid making the present even worse?

He’d been sticking with the latter so far, trying to keep himself from changing too much, but he didn’t know how long he could keep that up. He wasn’t sure he could force himself to repeat those past mistakes he’d made. Those incredibly painful mistakes he’d tried hard not to think about. God, he didn’t want to relive any of those.

There it was. The paper blew out of his hand, beckoning him. He followed it, almost dreading what was to come.

The path was familiar. It had been years ago, but his memory of the way the paper moved had remained vivid.

It wasn’t until he got to the grassy expanse of Brakebills that he remembered what happened next.

He froze for a moment, as he saw the shape of Eliot Waugh lounged on the stone sign. He practically lost his breath. How had he not thought of this, of the fact that Eliot had been the one to guide him to the exam, the first person he’d met at this school? It had been so long ago. So much had happened.

He pushed forward. His throat tightened. All he could think about was the Monster possessing Eliot in the present. How hope of ever getting Eliot back had dwindled to almost nothing. How he could hardly bear to look at the Monster, seeing Eliot’s face and eyes there. How Eliot was trapped inside his own head. How excruciating it all was. How he'd regretted ever bringing back magic in the first place, because it wasn't fucking worth it. 

Suddenly, Quentin’s mind was made up. Screw preserving the past. The current state of things was so fucked already. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

He could fix everything. Every stupid little thing that had gone wrong that led the horrifying present they’d all been trapped in. He could _fix_ it.

He slowed as he got closer, taking in everything about the scene. Eliot caught his eye and leaned up, glanced at the card in front of him.

“Quentin Coldwater?” he said.

Quentin could only nod. It was _Eliot._ Right there in front of him.

Eliot jumped down, walking towards him. Quentin inhaled sharply as he got closer.

Quentin had to swallow back tears. This Eliot didn’t know him. Not yet. But Quentin had _missed_ him. He desperately wanted to hug him, tell him how awful it had been without him, tell him that he _loved_ him.

He couldn’t. They didn’t even know each other yet.

He wasn’t sure how to act. How to handle this.

 “I’m Eliot.” He looked Quentin over. “You’re late.”

“S-sorry,” Quentin breathed. Guilt rose in Quentin’s chest, thinking of present-day Eliot, still trapped by the Monster. He wished he could put more into that apology. _Sorry about everything, El. Everything that hasn’t happened yet. I failed you. I’m so sorry._

Eliot almost smiled. “Follow me,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette as he turned away.

Quentin didn’t have to be told twice. He followed Eliot as closely as he could, keeping up with the long strides.

“This is Brakebills University,” Eliot said, with a flourish of his hand. “You’ve been offered a preliminary exam for entry into the graduate program.”

“Am I hallucinating?” Quentin said, softly. He couldn’t keep the reverence out of his voice as he stared at Eliot.

Eliot turned back, looking bemused. “If you were, how would asking me help?”

A smile twitched on Quentin’s lips. _Eliot._

God, Quentin had missed him. He didn’t feel like he deserved this, like he deserved to be here with Eliot when he hadn’t managed to save him. It seemed easy, too easy. He kept his eyes trained on Eliot, like he was worried that if he looked away even for a moment, Eliot would disappear and he would lose him again. 

\---

He passed the exam, because of course he did. He’d been learning and practicing magic for years.

It was that last meeting with Dean Fogg that he needed to get to. Maybe he knew something about what was happening. Or at least he could help. Or at _least,_ Quentin could explain what was happening to someone who might understand.

“Magic is real,” Dean Fogg said as Quentin took a seat. “But you’ve gathered that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, Dean Fogg, look,” Quentin said, leaning forward. “I’ve been here. Before. I’m reliving this.”

Dean Fogg looked almost relieved. “So you’ve figured out the time loop, then? Thank God someone else has, this has been exhausting.”

Quentin furrowed his brow. Right, that. “No. Well, I mean, yes, but it’s more than that. I’ve, well… I’m from farther into the future than that. The time loop was… God, it ended years ago for me.”

“I see.” Dean Fogg let out a long, thin sigh. He reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured them both, pushing one towards Quentin.

Quentin took it, taking two long sips.

“So how did you get here?” Dean Fogg said, sounding tired.

“I don’t _know._ I just woke up here. In my time, I don’t even go to Brakebills anymore, since… Well, since you wiped all our identities and replaced them with new ones. For our safety, I guess, but… It’s a long story.”

Dean Fogg was quiet for a moment. “What timeline are you from, exactly?”

Quentin paused. “Timeline forty.”

Fogg let out a humorless chuckle, drank his entire glass, and poured another. “Well. I guess there goes my hope of this being the last one.” He raised his second glass to Quentin before downing it. “Just get to your dorm. I’ll call Jane in tomorrow and we can talk then. For now, I have several more students to meet with. And then I need to drink this in the dark for a while.”

Quentin had somehow forgotten that Dean Fogg was  _not_ actually helpful.

He got up quietly heading for the door. He hesitated as his hand hovered above the doorknob. “What timeline is this?”

“Timeline nine,” Fogg replied. He raised his glass. “Here’s to thirty more of these.”

Quentin turned away and left the room. He wasn’t even in his own _timeline._  

He ran right into Julia in the hallway. Right, if this wasn’t timeline forty, then…

She beamed at him. “Quentin, you got in, too?” she whispered excitedly. She grabbed his arm. “Can you _believe_ it?”

Quentin tried to muster up the excitement he would’ve had at this time. It didn’t come. He could barely get himself to smile.

“Come on, Q, magic is… It’s _real.”_ She grinned. “Just like we always knew it was.”

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s…” Quentin tried to pass off his ambivalence as being overwhelmed. “It’s amazing.”

She hit his arm gently. “Come on, Q. Be happy about this.” She glanced back at the door. “I better get in there. We _need_ to talk about this later.”

Quentin looked back at her as she disappeared into Fogg’s office. He breathed a sigh of relief. If he was in a timeline where Julia had gotten into Brakebills, there was at least one less thing he had to worry about altering.

\---

Quentin froze in the doorway when he got to his room.

Somehow, he hadn’t thought about this either.

_Penny._

This Penny was dead, where Quentin was from. Penny from Timeline 23 was around, but his Penny, the one he’d been roommates with, the one he’d fought with, the one who’d saved his life more than once… He’d died. And Quentin didn’t know anything about the fates of his friends in Timeline 9.

Quentin was speechless for several long, heavy seconds before Penny saw him.

“What up, roomie,” Penny said, in that cool, detached tone that Quentin saw now as a front.

“Um, hey,” he said quietly, trying desperately to not act like he’d seen a ghost.

Penny’s façade dropped for a moment, and he stared at Quentin, confused. “So I wasn’t gonna bring this up,” Penny said. “But man, I, uh… I can read minds. And you’re… Man, you’re _loud._ ”

Quentin’s eyes widened. _Shit._ He’d forgotten.

Penny frowned, taking a step back and putting his hand up. “Yeah, like, right there. What do you mean you _forgot?_ How do you know me?”

Quentin took a slow breath, closing his eyes. He conjured the memory of the spell to cast the protection wards on his mind and he went through the motions quickly.

“Okay, dude, but you gotta fucking explain yourself now,” Penny said, walking towards him, a little threateningly.

Force of habit, Quentin took a few steps back until he collided with the wall. “Listen, I, um… I can’t really… I have to, uh…” _Shit, shit, shit._

“Quentin,” called a familiar voice from the hall. Eliot walked in, Margo right beside him. “This is the interruption you’ve been waiting for.”

“Hi. I’m Margo,” Margo said, looking Quentin over like Eliot had. “This is him. Hmm. He’s not _that_ cute.”

Quentin was going to get whiplash trying to navigate the emotions hitting him when he saw these people. Penny, alive and maintaining his intimidating, cool front. Eliot, himself, concealed in affectation like before the Mosaic, before Mike. Margo, bubbly and laughing and careless.

Quentin had to take a breath trying to get himself under control. God, they all seemed so… _Happy_. Which was made even more depressing by the fact that Quentin knew that even at this time, none of them really were. They were all different shades of unhappy. They just didn’t know about all the bullshit quests and monsters to come yet.

“We’re not done,” Penny said, shooting him a glare.

“Yeah, yeah,” Quentin replied, avoiding eye contact. “Later, okay?”

He followed Eliot and Margo out the door, trying not to stare at them too much.

Eliot threw a glance back, smiling at Quentin in that nonchalant, reserved way. The way Quentin recognized as Eliot still trying to gauge what he thought of someone. Quentin’s chest hurt. They were still strangers here.

“You’re so lucky you have us to show you around,” Margo said, touching his arm.


	3. Welcome to Timeline 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of floored by how much support this fic has already gotten. I'm sorry I didn't reply to comments, I just got overwhelmed. You're all so nice. Thank you.  
> Anyway, my writing pattern typically goes: when there's a lot of schoolwork, I write fast. And there's a lot of schoolwork right now.

Julia was buzzing with excitement in her first class. She took a seat in the back, near the corner. Really, she’d rather be in the front, where she could be closest and see everything the professor was showing them. But she also wanted to take a scan of her classmates, size them all up.

She saw Quentin near the middle of the room with his head down. She frowned. He didn’t seem _nearly_ excited enough. There was something off about him. The Quentin she knew would be nerding the hell out right about now. Not to mention saying _I told you so_ to her, since he was the one who’d always been waiting for a revelation like this.

She’d have to talk to him later. Maybe it was the depression. Maybe he’d been worse than she’d realized, and even something like this couldn’t distract him from it.

That was all for later, though. She was worried about Q, yes, but she’d have to handle it after all this. It was her first class at _literal magic school,_ and she was planning to enjoy it.

Another student walked in right as the professor was about to start talking. A taller boy with tattoos on his arms. He slid into the chair next to Julia, shooting her a smirk and a nod.

She rolled her eyes, turning away sharply. Sure, he was cute, but she was still with James. She’d have to worry about how to navigate attending Brakebills and dating James later. She was sure she could figure out how to balance it. 

“You _do_ think I’m cute, though,” the boy murmured to her.

She shot him a glare. “Mind-reading? Really? Isn’t that kind of a cliché?” She leaned towards him. “ _Cute_ doesn’t mean anything, dude. Stay out of my head.”

He shrugged, a satisfied grin still on his face.

 _Boys._ Insufferable.

“I _heard_ that,” he said.

“I said stay out of my head,” she replied.

She turned away from him sharply, giving the professor her full attention.

“At the exam, each of you did magic. What was inside you was coaxed. The question is, who can grow this magic into something more? Who can _be_ a Magician?”

Julia straightened up. She was going to do this. She was going to be _good_ at it. This was where she was supposed to be. She could feel it, deep in her bones. Everything in her life had been leading to this moment. Nothing else had been real.   

She watched the girl who got called up to the front with just a little bit of envy.

Julia didn’t _want_ to be called out on the first day in front of everyone, but there was something appealing about it anyway. The idea that this other student already had enough of the teacher’s faith that she could do a demonstration.

More than envy, though, Julia felt awe as she watched the girl (Alice, maybe? She wasn’t sure she heard the name right) turn a marble into a small glass horse that trotted across the table.

She exhaled, a little shakily. Yeah, this was _definitely_ where she was meant to be. The world made so much more sense now.

“Pretty amazing,” the boy next to her murmured.

Julia forgot to be annoyed with him. “No kidding,” she replied.

\---

Alice kept her head down as she walked through the Brakebills campus. She didn’t need to make friends. And she really didn’t need to make _fake_ friends who just wanted to hang around her in the hopes that they could cheat off of her.

She was here for her brother. That was all. She owed it to Charlie to try and figure out what happened to him, since she seemed to be the only one that fucking _cared._ Her parents obviously didn’t. They wouldn’t even talk about him.

She just needed to hang around long enough to see what she could figure out. And she didn’t need anyone’s help, and she didn’t need anyone to distract her.

She found a bench, pulling some books out of her bag. She didn’t even get the chance to situate herself.

“Hey, Alice,” a girl’s voice called out. “Come join us.”

Alice tensed, looking up. She recognized two of the Physical Kids and a boy from her class. The girl calling to her was stretched out on the bench, giving her a wry smile.

“Make some _friends_ , take a load off,” the girl went on.

Alice noticed the boy from her class avoiding eye contact. What was his _problem?_ He seemed like he couldn’t stand to look at her, and she didn’t even know his name.

She packed up her books. She didn’t want to deal with this. There was no way that girl really wanted to _hang out,_ and Alice wasn’t interested in whatever hang-up the other boy had. Plus, the third student, the only one she knew the name of, was Eliot Waugh, and all she knew about him was his reputation with partying.

Distractions. It was all a bunch of distractions. And that wasn’t what Alice was here for.

She went to go find somewhere quieter. She didn’t really know where to start with figuring out what happened to her brother, but she couldn’t do nothing. She headed to the library, figuring they must have _something_ about the student deaths and disappearances at the school.

She perused through the shelves, grabbing a few books. She picked up a few on Brakebills history, on strange occurrences, and on summonings, hoping to cover all her bases. More than anything, she wanted to find a way to summon Charlie so that she could just _talk_ to him. He could tell her what happened himself.

Alice found a quiet corner table, where she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be bothered.

As she read, she found a summoning ritual that seemed promising. If she could just figure out how to do it, she could maybe…

She heard a noise and glanced up. A girl she recognized from one of her classes was furtively looking around the corner of the shelves as she tried to subtly slide a book into her bag.

Alice watched for a moment. “Are you trying to steal that?”

The girl jumped, turning abruptly. She glared. “What’s it to you?”

Alice blinked. Nothing, she supposed. What did she care about Brakebills and their book collection? They hadn’t even actually invited her to take the exam. She’d had to find her own way. She shrugged, looking back down at her own books.

The girl, apparently unsatisfied with that response, walked over and took a seat across from Alice.

Alice glanced up, mildly irritated. “Can I help you?”

“Just… Don’t tell anyone?” the girl asked, her voice low.

“Fine. I don’t have anyone to tell anyway.”

The girl seemed like she was about to get up, but she hesitated. “I’m Kady, by the way.”

“Alice,” Alice replied curtly.

“That spell you did in class. With the glass horse?” Kady said. “That was pretty cool.”

Alice stiffened a little. She hated that she’d gotten called up in class like that. So much for flying under the radar. “Thanks.”

“So what are you working on in here?”

Alice shot Kady a look. “I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Kady raised her eyebrows and scoffed. “Yeah, whatever,” she muttered, getting up and turning away.

Alice felt a prick of guilt. Maybe she’d gotten defensive preemptively. It was possible not everyone was going to try to use her for her family’s reputation, after all. And she didn’t really know anything about Kady. “I’m trying to—” she started, before cutting herself off.

Kady looked back. “Come on, you caught me stealing. What am I going to do, tell someone? Judge you?”

Alice took a deep breath. It might be easier if she had a little help, after all. Maybe Kady knew something she didn't. “I’m trying to find a way to talk to my brother.”

\---

Dean Fogg’s office felt tense. Maybe it was because Fogg had instructed them to be silent until he finished his glass, and he was taking his time.

At a certain point, Jane cleared her throat. “Henry—”

“Fine,” Henry said, downing the rest of the glass. “Get on with it.”

Quentin immediately turned to Jane. “What am I doing here?”

Jane smiled. “Honestly, I was just trying something drastic. I didn’t want to have to go to double digits.”

Dean Fogg laughed and poured another glass.

Quentin immediately felt his skin prickle in frustration. He might’ve wanted to scream if he wasn’t so tired. He made a conscious effort to not think about how arbitrary and meaningless that reasoning was, and how all it really meant was that he'd been forced back here for  _nothing._

“But if I’m from Timeline 40,” he said, “then doesn’t that mean we already _know_ that this doesn’t work? The time loop keeps going. So in this one, we can’t possibly have defeated The Beast.”

Jane hesitated. “Time travel is… complicated.”

“Great,” Quentin replied, sarcasm seeping into his tone. “You don’t have any idea either.”

She gave him a look. “You’re from the future, but you’re not from _this_ future. Maybe that’s enough to alter things.”

“But if I alter things, then doesn’t that mean you don’t end up resetting the time loop, and my timeline never happens, which means I never exist, which means I can never be pulled back to change this timeline in the first place? It’s a _paradox_.” He crossed his arms. “I feel like you didn’t think this through, and honestly, I’m fucking tired of getting jerked around by people.”

Dean Fogg laughed again, raising his glass. “What a difference thirty-one timelines make, eh, Jane? He’s like a wholly different person.”

Quentin shifted his glare. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but this isn’t funny. It's not a joke. You’re the one who told me that in every timeline before mine, people die. My _friends_ die. And now I’ve been dragged back here to watch.”

Jane straightened up, looking at him seriously. “Then you should be motivated to try and set this timeline on a different course.”

Quentin scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he replied, shaking his head. “This _never_ should’ve been the responsibility of a bunch of grad students just barely learning magic anyway. You should’ve found another way. You used us. And you’re using me now.”

“Not to state the obvious, but what choice do you have?” Jane said sharply. She took a breath, softening in her pause. “I _am_ sorry, Quentin. I never meant to put the responsibility on you and your friends. You were just always the one who stepped up. And you’re right, maybe I took advantage of that.”

“And what if I just didn’t step up this time?” Quentin said. “What if I decided to keep me and my friends out of this whole thing, give the job to someone else for once? I don’t _have_ to help you. I could just try to keep them safe.”

“You could,” Jane said gently. “But you won’t. You wouldn’t just stand by and watch someone else put themselves in danger when you know what’s coming. You _always_ step up, Quentin. There’s a reason for that.”

“You don’t know me,” Quentin replied. He couldn’t put any strength behind the words. She was right. And they both knew it. As much as Quentin wanted to protect his friends, he wasn’t going to ignore Fillory and The Beast, knowing what he knew. God, he was fucking _exhausted_.

Who else could he expect to step up, anyway? Todd?

She smiled. “Perhaps I don’t. Listen, Quentin, we have no way of knowing how this all turns out. All we can do is try and hope for the best. Paradoxes aren’t well-studied. Who knows what this timeline could hold?”

“No wonder it took forty tries,” Quentin said harshly. “Your plans suck.”

Jane narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment. “Quentin, there’s no need to give up preemptively. There’s always a chance. It’s not set in stone.”

Quentin just shook his head. “If this works, then there was never a fortieth timeline for me to be dragged from in the first place. You _get_ that this is hopeless, right? It’s over. Nothing is going to change. All you’ve done here is set me and my friends up to die again.”

She shook her head. “Nothing is ever hopeless. You used to know that, too.”

“I used to believe that,” Quentin amended.

Jane stepped forward, bringing her hand to Quentin’s face. He stiffened, breaking eye contact and moving away from her.

“I can see that you’ve been through terrible things, Quentin,” she murmured, pulling her hand back. “But those things, those awful things that happened to you, they’re not all there is. There is more to the world, more to your life, than that. You’ll see it again.”

Quentin took another step back, still unable to look at her. His skin itched where her hand had touched his face. It felt more like she'd slapped him than like she'd gently cupped his cheek. 

Jane let out a melancholy sigh. “You used to believe in magic. You used to believe that there was always hope. You can believe again, Quentin.”

Quentin didn’t move as she turned and left the room. He swallowed hard, ignoring the way his skin was burning. He didn’t _want_ to believe again. Where had that childish idealism ever gotten him, anyway?

He took a seat, wordlessly pouring himself a glass of Dean Fogg’s whiskey.


	4. Everything You Dreamed and Hoped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really miss Eliot Waugh, you guys.

“Quentin! Q, hold up!”

Quentin hesitated, considering whether to keep walking like he hadn’t heard. He hesitated just long enough for Julia to catch up.

“Hey, Q,” she said, a little out of breath. “What’ve you been up to? I’ve barely seen you since classes started.”

Quentin looked down, his hair falling over his eyes. “Just busy, I guess.”

Julia scoffed. “Come on, Q. Give me some credit, I know what you’re acting weird.” She paused, taking a breath and studying his face. “Is this about where you were? Before we got here? Q, I know. I know you were in the hospital.”

Quentin sighed, glancing towards the direction of the Cottage. “It was nothing. Really. I feel fine.”

Julia put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and Quentin took a step back.

“Jules, look, it’s _fine_. Drop it.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “Q, I’m not going to do that.”

“What do you want from me here?” Quentin replied, feeling drained.

Julia sighed, taking a step towards him. “I know you, Quentin. I know when it’s getting bad, okay? I’ve watched it happen before. You think it’s never going to get better, but it will. Don’t get buried under it. You’ve gotten through periods like this before, and you can again. You always do.” She brushed a bit of hair back from his forehead. “Please, let me help. You're my best friend. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you, always.”

She really had no idea. How could she? There were years of pain and trauma and failures weighing Quentin down. This wasn’t going to get fixed by a heart to heart or some simple self-care. It was bigger than Quentin knew how to manage.

If Quentin was being honest with himself, he knew. He knew that he was already buried under all of it. He knew that this was the worst he’d ever been. His concern wasn’t how to get _himself_ through this. His concern was making sure he’d saved everyone before he got crushed.

Julia smiled kindly. “We’re at freaking _magic school,_ Quentin. Can you believe it?”

Quentin nodded, a little awkwardly. “Pretty amazing,” he said. He heard how flat and empty his voice was.

“Have you thought about…” Julia cut off, laughing and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay, I know how this sounds, but have you thought about how, I don’t know, if magic is real… What if Fillory is, too?”

She looked so tentatively hopeful and embarrassed. Quentin felt a pang in his chest. Because, yeah, of course she felt like that. He had, too. Fillory had been their escape as kids. It was how they’d gotten close.

But Fillory _was_ real. And it wasn’t the safe haven they’d always dreamt of. It was just as complicated and shitty and miserable as everywhere else.

“Anything is possible, right?” Julia said, her voice small.

Quentin forced a smile. “Who knows? We could find the grandfather clock tomorrow and become king and queen.”

She smiled back, looking a little relieved. “Guess we probably shouldn’t go advertise what hopeless nerds we are,” she said.

“Too late,” Quentin replied. “I brought all the Fillory books with me. They’re in my dorm.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed.

\---

“Listen, maybe…” Kady started. She rolled her shoulders and leaned back in her chair. She looked at Alice evenly. “Maybe we can help each other out, you know?”

Alice glanced up apprehensively. She’d been spending so much of her free time holed up in the library, and it wasn’t like Kady had offered to help when they’d talked about this before. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can help you summon your brother,” Kady said. “I’ve heard about you. Grew up in a family of Magicians? Classically trained?”

Alice frowned. “Look, my parents never taught me anything. My _family_ wasn’t some advantage. Everything I know about magic, I taught myself.”

Kady put her hands up. “Look, I grew up around magic, too. Hedges. Not for nothing, but we’ve got a whole different area of expertise. Things that Brakebills would never touch.”

The open books in front of Alice weren’t exactly bursting with helpful information. Brakebills was confined by rules and regulations, and summonings weren’t exactly encouraged. You never knew what was waiting on the other side.

Alice closed the book in front of her. “And what would you want in return?” she said, lifting her chin and shaking her hair back in the hopes that she passed as confident.

Kady looked away for a moment before leaning forward on the table. “Just… keep watch for me,” she said with a wry smile.

“While you steal things,” Alice replied flatly.

Kady shrugged. “It’s an even trade.”

Alice pursed her lips, considering. She leaned forward, mirroring Kady. “Do you know about how the alumni keys are charmed to be unstealable?”

“I’d heard,” Kady replied slowly. “McNaughton’s Unstealable. I know about that spell.”

“Brakebills never invited me to take the exam,” Alice said. “I had to get here myself. I stole an alumni key from my parents.”

Kady was silent for a few moments. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Alice replied, “that you should tell me _why_ you need to steal from the school.”

Kady smiled conspiratorially. “There’s a party at the Physical Cottage tonight. How about we see what we can get, and then I’ll tell you?”

Alice _might’ve_ felt guilty about knowingly stealing school property. If Brakebills had actually invited her to take the exam. If they had given a satisfactory response when she asked what happened to her brother. If she thought that this school could really help her. If it hadn’t, in all likelihood, gotten her brother killed in some horrific way.

She didn’t owe Brakebills anything. If anything, they owed _her._

\---

Spending time with Margo and Eliot was both amazingly nice and deeply painful. They’d shown him around the campus, given him the rundown that he already knew, walked him to class. Brought him to the Cottage. He didn’t think he’d quite appreciated at the time just how immediately they’d treated him like a friend. He’d been too anxious, too distracted, too overwhelmed. But they really had just accepted him in without question. Quentin hadn’t had any idea just how lucky he was.

Seeing them, like how they were before, being around them… God, Quentin just wanted to forget all the horrible things that came later. He wanted to preserve _this_ present, the one where they all got to just be grad students, partying and gossiping and studying. Margo whispering about the cute Healing students that crashed their party. Eliot taking care to make the signature cocktail just right.

Quentin had never gotten much chance to actually enjoy going to Brakebills.

It also _hurt_ to be around Margo and Eliot, though. Partially because Quentin knew what was to come. Partially because they didn’t really know him yet, so while Quentin loved them, he had to act like they were strangers becoming friends. He had to act like he hadn’t bared his soul to the both of them. Like they hadn’t gone through lifetimes together. Like they were just getting to know one another.

Quentin really wondered how much of this he was going to be able to handle.

But on the other hand, _Eliot_ was here. Really here.

Quentin sat cross-legged on the corner couch, running his fingers absent-mindedly through the condensation on his glass. The music was loud. People were talking, laughing, yelling. The air was buzzing with magic.

God, everything had been so much simpler, hadn’t it? Quentin wondered what life could’ve been like, if the Beast had never happened. If he could’ve just been a normal student.

He took a sip of his drink, staring at the floor in front of him. This whole situation made him feel so deeply alone. He was still nostalgic for this time, though he was surrounded by it. It was his past. He didn’t know how to enjoy it.

Quentin froze up when Eliot collapsed next to him. It took him a split second to get past the initial shock, really remember that this _wasn’t_ the Monster, it was the real Eliot.

“Sulking in the corner, are we?” Eliot said, lazily swirling the remainder of his drink in his glass. “It _is_ a party, you know, Quentin.”

Quentin offer a brief, weak smile. “I’m just not much for crowds, I guess.”

Eliot studied Quentin’s face for a few moments, and Quentin had to look away.

“Is it not everything you dreamed and hoped?” Eliot asked.

Quentin glanced back, still finding it hard to meet Eliot’s gaze. “What?”

“Magic,” Eliot replied, gesturing widely.

Quentin paused, struggling with how to be honest. He never wanted to lie to any version of Eliot. “Well, I guess…” he said carefully. “I mean, when I was a kid, I always believed in magic. And I thought… I thought when I finally found it, everything would make sense. Everything would just… fall into place. My life would start.”

Eliot smiled fondly, and it was all Quentin could do not to cry.

“Of course. Magic was supposed to solve everything, wasn’t it?” Eliot let out a long sigh. He leaned up and squeezed Quentin’s shoulder gently. “Why don’t we get you another drink?”

Quentin lifted his current glass slightly. “I still have one.”

“No, I know,” Eliot said with a slight smirk. “You need to finish that one. I’m already _several_ drinks ahead of you.”

His voice. His hands. His smile. Quentin finally managed to turn enough to look at him head on. He took a moment to study his face. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Eliot smiled back, oblivious to the weight of Quentin's words. “Don’t thank me until I’ve actually made the drink. You’ll love it, of course.”

Quentin shook his head slightly. “No, I mean…” He took a breath. “Thank you for inviting me. For showing me around. For talking to me.”

Eliot blinked, seeming a little taken aback. Like he wasn’t used to sincerity from the first-year boys he’d taken an interest in. Quentin supposed he wasn’t. Eliot had never been particularly comfortable with sincerity.

The irony in Eliot’s smile faded. “We all need friends, Q,” he said, his voice a little quieter.

 _Q._ Quentin felt his chest tighten. Eliot had called him _Q._ For what was, in this timeline, the first time.


	5. Monsters & Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is my fault for manufacturing this entire situation, but poor Quentin, man.

Penny was waiting for Quentin when he got back to their room. He immediately jumped up from where he was sitting to confront Quentin right in the doorway. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Can’t imagine why I’d do that,” Quentin replied.

Penny just glared. “Start talking.”

Quentin sighed, running a hand through his hair. He closed the door softly behind him. “You’re not going to believe me,” he muttered.

“Jesus Christ… Dude, we’re at Hogwarts. Fucking try me.” Penny towered in front of Quentin, glaring.

Quentin shrunk away a little, walking over to the books on his desk. He tapped his fingers against the wood. Rip off the band-aid, right? “I’m from the future.”

Penny scoffed. “Really now.”

“Told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Fine, whatever,” Penny replied, putting his arms up. “You’re from the future. So? What happens next? What am I going to say?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. He forgot what a dick Penny could be sometimes. Specifically to him. “Look, I’m from, like, years in the future. And we’ve never had _this_ conversation before.”

Penny crossed his arms, and Quentin saw another crack in his façade. “Fine, okay. What was with your reaction to me? You saw me, and you got all… Fucking weird about it.”

Quentin clenched his jaw. How was he supposed to explain this? The complicated feelings of seeing a version of a person you knew who’d died? He and Penny hadn’t been _friends_. But Penny’s death had still been tragic. And then the way he’d gotten trapped in the Underworld Library had been tragic. Maybe Quentin had never been friends with Penny, but he respected him. He’d appreciated him.  

There was no easy way to explain everything that had happened, every complicated and bizarre turn of events that had led to this. Quentin couldn’t begin to decipher what emotions he felt towards and about Penny, this Penny.

Frankly, he was thinking he was done meeting versions of Penny.

“Listen, the future I come from…” Quentin started before trailing off. He sighed, trying to sort through his thoughts. “We were… I don’t know. We knew each other. We went through a lot together. It was just kind of a shock to see _you._ The version of you from before… everything.”

“That’s pretty fucking vague,” Penny replied.

Quentin spread his arms. “What do you want me to say? A _lot_ happened.”

Penny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s way more specific, dude.”

Quentin sighed again, frustrated. “Look, you hated me. You saved my life. I saved yours. We weren’t… friends, exactly. But we were something. You mattered to me. And you… You died.”

That, at least, made Penny pause. “Shit, man.”

 Quentin nodded. That about summed it up.

“So, what? You’re from the future and you came back to change some shit?” Penny said, crossing his arms. His voice betrayed his hesitance, his discomfort.

“I didn’t… I didn’t come back on purpose,” Quentin replied. “I just woke up and I was back to the day I’d gotten in to Brakebills.”

Penny hesitated. “When do I die?”

“Not for a while,” Quentin replied. “Honestly, so much happens between now and then, it’s possible my presence already altered it. Or it’s possible that you never died in this timeline.”

“ _This_ timeline?”

Quentin took a breath, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you. It’s like… Time travel is weird, right? And alternate timelines are even more confusing. It really depends on… On what kind of lore you’re looking at, you know? Because some scenarios are like, you’re not supposed to share anything, and others—”

“God, shut the fuck up,” Penny interjected with an incredulous laugh. “This isn’t a fucking nerd movie. What do you mean _this_ timeline?”

Quentin met Penny’s gaze. Maybe it would be better to have someone else who knew what was going on, even if it was Penny. “There’s a time loop. There’s… Well, there’s a sort of monster. We called him The Beast. Every time we failed to defeat him, the timeline reset. I’m from Timeline 40. This is Timeline 9. According to Dean Fogg, anyway.”

Penny sat down, resting an arm on his desk. “So this Beast… What happens, in all the timelines we don’t beat him?”

Quentin started to try to say something but Penny suddenly winced, putting a hand to his temple. He lifted his other hand to tell Quentin to pause.

“Hold on. We’re gonna have to finish this later.” Penny’s eyes had a faraway, glassy look to them. “Listen, uh, I have… somewhere to go,” he said, his voice low.

Quentin was struck by a memory. His heart beat a little faster. “Where?”

“Someone… someone needs help.” He got to his feet. “Don’t, uh, don’t ask me how I know.”

Quentin leapt up. “Oh, I already _know_ how you know,” he said urgently. “And we can’t help them, we have to stop them. _Now.”_

Penny looked over at Quentin, his gaze confused and mildly alarmed. “What?”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain,” Quentin said quickly. “I can tell you everything later. Where are they?”

“Follow me,” Penny replied.

\---

When they burst into the room, they saw Alice and Kady on the floor by the mirror, several tattered books open in front of them and bowls around them.

“What the hell?” Kady muttered, getting to her feet.

Alice followed suit, brushing her palms against the front of her dress.

“You need to stop,” Quentin said, pushing past Penny. “Right now.”

Kady scoffed, and she and Alice exchanged a glance.

“Thanks for your input, random guy who barged in, but we actually didn’t ask,” Kady said.

“I’m not kidding,” he said, trying to put all the severity of the situation into his tone. “This is a mistake. Don’t do it.”

Alice shot a glare. “Okay, you warned us. You can leave now.”

“Man, just _tell_ them,” Penny said, his tone exasperated. “Tell them what you told me.”

“No!” Quentin snapped. He couldn’t _deal_ with this right now. All these people, all these problems, everything he’d already _dealt_ with. Why couldn’t anything ever just be over?

“Tell us _what?”_ Kady asked, her tone impatient.

Quentin clenched his jaw. “Look, don’t finish the ritual. Just walk away.”  

“No,” Alice said, her tone firm but her eyes hesitant. “I’m not going to just _drop_ this for no reason. You have to tell me why, or stay out of our way.”

Quentin closed his eyes slowly, trying to gather himself. It hurt to look at this Alice, this Alice he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. This Alice who’d died and never truly returned. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Alice replied, her voice rising. “I don’t even _know_ you!”

“Look, I think we should listen to him,” Penny said. His tone was serious. Quentin opened his eyes, surprised that any version of Penny would say that.

“We? And who the hell are you?” Kady replied harshly. “Look, we didn’t ask you guys to come here. So just get out. Mind your own business, this has nothing to do with you.”

Quentin brought his hands to his face, feeling like he was about to get a headache. Of all the people to be _responsible_ for all this bullshit, why did it have to be him? Why did it _always_ have to be him?

“Fine, don’t trust me,” he said, finally locking eyes with Alice. “Try it and see what happens. But I promise you, the _thing_ that comes out of that mirror, it won’t be your brother.”

Alice looked startled, taking a brief step backwards. Quentin didn’t break eye contact.

“What do you know about my brother?” Alice said, her voice getting softer.

Using this leverage made Quentin feel sick, but what choice did he have? “I can tell you what happened to him, but you need to put all this stuff away _right now.”_

The thing was, Quentin knew they were going to have to face the Beast sooner or later. And he knew that he’d have to step up, especially since he was the only one who knew what was going on. But they weren’t ready. _He_ wasn’t ready. He was still trying to figure out how not to drown here.

Alice shifted on her feet.

“Come on, you can’t possibly be listening to these morons,” Kady said, crossing her arms.

“Hey,” Penny protested.

“How could you know what happened to my brother?” Alice asked. “I mean, why… Why would you know that?”

Quentin sighed, frustrated. “Look, you wanna take the risk that I don’t know what I’m talking about and you just have to do the ritual another day, or do you wanna take the risk that I _do_ know what I’m talking about and you ignore me and open up a portal for a monster?”

\---

Quentin stood outside the door with Alice as Penny and Kady stayed inside gathering up the beginnings of the spell. Alice was standing with her arms crossed, staring Quentin down. He took a deep breath, trying and failing to meet her gaze.

He remembered how much she’d cared about Charlie. How hard she’d tried. How much she’d wanted to save him, and how Quentin had been the one to box him when she was in over her head. Alice would’ve killed herself trying to save Charlie. And now Quentin had to tell her that he was gone.

“There was a girl your brother was friends with. She was in love with this professor, and they had an affair, but it ended. She got it in her head that if she could make herself prettier with magic, he’d love her again.” Quentin paused, pushing his hair back. “It didn’t work. Obviously. Anyway, she was… She was going to kill herself. Your brother tried to help her. He thought he could fix it.”

Alice just listened quietly, her face pale and slack. Quentin wished he didn’t have to be the one telling her this story.

He looked at the ground, wanting this whole conversation to be over. “The magic was too much. Your brother turned into a niffin.”

“He was trying to help her,” Alice murmured. “That sounds like Charlie.”

“You shouldn’t…” Quentin started. He took a breath, trying to find the words. “You shouldn’t try to talk to him. Or summon him. It’s not him anymore.”

Alice flicked her hair back, staring hard at Quentin. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. He won’t thank you for it,” Quentin said.

There was a beat of heavy silence. Alice’s eyes widened. “You know how to do it. You know how to turn a niffin human again.”

_Shit._ “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Alice replied. “You knew it was possible.”

“It _isn’t_ possible.” Quentin didn’t feel like he was _lying,_ really. When he brought Alice back, she had been a fundamentally different person. Some crucial part of her had altered.

“You’re lying,” Alice retorted. She raised her chin a little. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to help me. But you’re not going to talk me out of trying to bring him back.”

Quentin sighed. Really, did he have anyone to blame but himself? “You need to seriously consider whether putting Charlie through all that is worth it to you.”

“Jesus, what is your _problem_ with me?” Alice said, her voice rising in pitch.

“Nothing. God, nothing, we don’t even—we don’t even know each other.” Okay, maybe he was lying _there._

“You look at me like I’ve already done something wrong. You can barely meet my eyes. And you’re standing there _judging me_ for wanting to do everything I possibly can to bring my brother back?”

Quentin forced himself to meet her gaze. “I’m not judging you,” he said evenly.

“Fuck you, Quentin,” Alice spat. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Quentin wanted to say that he did, that in another world, they knew each other and they loved each other and they'd lost each other. He wanted to say that he knew she was stubborn and driven and compassionate and maybe a little arrogant, and he knew that she’d get herself hurt if she tried to bring Charlie back.

He wanted to say _I loved you and I hated you and you loved me and you hated me, and maybe we never fully understood one another, but we knew each other._

He took a step back. “Alice, I understand. I understand wanting to bring back someone you love when you see the slightest chance.”

“You don’t,” she replied. “You _don’t_ get it. Charlie was all I had.”

Quentin didn’t reply. What could he say? There were no words.

Penny came back out, Kady following close behind.

“Let’s go, man,” Penny said, hitting Quentin’s arm and walking off without looking back.

Quentin glanced back at Alice for a moment. She both was and wasn’t the girl he’d known.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply before turning to catch up with Penny.

Penny immediately gave him a sharp look. “How did you know?”

Quentin met his gaze. “The voice in your head? It’s not what you think.”

\---

“You want to try and bring your brother back to life?” Kady asked. “Isn’t that…”

“It’s not exactly bringing him back to life,” Alice replied. “Because he’s not _dead,_ he’s a niffin.”

“Has it ever been done before?”

“There’s nothing in the books I’ve looked through,” Alice replied. “But Quentin knows it’s possible.”

Kady scoffed. “There’s something _wrong_ with that guy. Why would you believe him if he told you it was possible?”

“He didn’t tell me it was possible. He was trying to convince me it wasn’t.” Alice hesitated. “But I think he knows because I think he’s done it before.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way he talked about it.” Alice looked down, fidgeting nervously. “He said that Charlie wouldn’t thank me for it. That sounds… weird, right?”

“Sure, it sounds weird,” Kady conceded. “But _everything_ about Quentin is weird. Dude’s got problems.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?” Alice said defensively.

“Of course I’ll help,” Kady replied. “But Quentin won’t.”

Alice glanced back towards where Quentin and Penny had walked off. “I have an idea,” she said slowly. “It’s not exactly… ethical. But I’m desperate, and if Quentin is the only who can help…”

“I’m in,” Kady said.

Alice turned back with a small smile. “I haven’t even told you the idea.”

Kady shrugged. “Sounds like fun to me.”


	6. Disciplines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am neglecting responsibilities in order to write this. I cannot change this.

There was something about getting her discipline that made it all so _real_ to Julia. Brakebills had already been amazing, but getting to take a test that told her _yes, you belong, welcome, here are your people…_ That was what she’d been waiting for.

She was even more excited that the person running her test was Dean Fogg. It all felt so official.

She’d been practicing. She knew that being tested for your discipline wasn’t actually a _test,_ but she wanted to make sure that she was at her best. Julia was never one to be half-hearted in her studies. She always wanted to get better, to _be_ better.

This wasn’t a make or break moment. There was no _wrong_ answer. She’d get a discipline, and she’d find a more permanent place in the school and in the world of magic.

There were butterflies in her stomach as she showed Dean Fogg what she could do, but her hands didn’t so much as tremble.

“Impressive,” Dean Fogg said, with a smile.

Julia straightened up, feeling proud. “I’ve been practicing.”

“It shows,” he replied. “You understood the theory behind the spell, and you reshaped it. Your discipline is meta-composition. You are a Knowledge student.”

The butterflies fluttered in her stomach again. “Knowledge?” she said.

“Part psychic, part physical. There really is no branch it doesn’t touch on. The short version: you are drawn, mind and body, to the discovery of magic.”

It felt so true, so right, so _perfect._ Julia felt light. A Knowledge student. Meta-composition. She could create spells, shape magic, change the very fabric of what they were studying. She was going to excel here, and what she was going to do was going to _matter._

Yale had never felt quite so distant.

She was going to live above the school library, with other students who matched her interest and drive, and she was going to be extraordinary.

Not to mention that was a not insignificant part of her that felt deeply satisfied that she was going to be in what seemed like the _Ravenclaw_ equivalent. It was every childhood dream and every adult dream she’d ever had.

She was right where she was supposed to be.

\---

 _Here we go again,_ Quentin thought to himself.

He’d already been _through_ this. He knew how it went. He got handed a bunch of random objects and nothing happened because he didn’t _have_ a discipline.

It was boring and anticlimactic and a little embarrassing. He’d tried to forget about it.

Whenever he remembered that they never figured out his discipline, he remembered that he never really belonged with the Physical Kids to begin with. Eliot, Margo, Alice, Kady, even Todd. They all belonged in the Cottage.

But Quentin had nothing.

He just wanted to get this _over_ with. He’d seriously considered just finding a way to skip it. But then he wouldn’t get placed in the Cottage, and he’d have to find more contrived reasons to hang around with his friends and try to guide them towards Fillory and defeating the Beast.

Or, worse, he’d only have Penny. And then they’d really be screwed.

“So,” Professor Sunderland started. “Tell me. What kind of magic did you do before Brakebills?”

“Um,” Quentin said. “Card tricks, mostly. I guess sometimes I used real magic when doing the sleight of hand things.”

“Well, predictions could mean psychic,” she said, sizing him up. “Vanishing could be illusions or physical magic. Let’s see what we can figure out.”

 _Anything but psychic,_ Quentin thought to himself, considering the abject horror of moving out of the tiny dorm room with Penny to the Psychic house, still with Penny.

She spent the next ten minutes or so handing him various objects, and it all seemed like nonsense to Quentin. How was she supposed to figure anything out by watching him hold a plant or wear some bizarre glasses?

“Not an herbalist,” she murmured. “Not a healing student…”

Whatever. He knew it was going to take a while. He’d done it already.

Pointless. It was all pointless.

He flexed his hands. They were getting sore, and he was tired.

“Wait,” Sunderland said suddenly. “Palms up, hands out.”

Quentin stifled a yawn, obeying.

“I have a theory,” she said, putting a finger up to tell Quentin to hold on. She went behind the desk, grabbing her coffee mug.

She walked briskly back over to Quentin, taking a breath, looking him in the eye, and smashing the mug on the ground.

“What the—what was that for?” Quentin protested, flinching a little at the noise.

“Feel anything?” Sunderland asked, studying Quentin’s face eagerly.

“Startled and confused?”

She pursed her lips. “Look at the mug. Look at the broken pieces. Now tell me. What can you do?”

Quentin hesitated. He didn’t remember this part. Maybe something had changed, but he couldn’t fathom what.

He looked at the floor, at the scattered pieces of the mug. _Huh._ His fingers twitched. He remembered the spell to fix it. His hands practically went through the motions by themselves.

He watched the pieces gather themselves up, circling the air over his hands as they remembered what they used to be, what they could be again. The mug rebuilt itself in front of him, like its purpose had come back.

Quentin let out a shaky breath, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

“Mender of small objects,” Sunderland said, satisfied. “There’s your discipline. Physical magic. You’ll go to the Cottage.”

He was at a loss for words. He’d _known_ how this was supposed to go. What had changed?

He had a discipline. After all this time.

It wasn’t flashy or exciting, like Quentin might’ve wanted it to be all those years ago. But it was _real_. It was real, and something about it felt… right.

He could take something broken and bring it to life again. He could repair things in the world. Small objects weren’t nothing. Ashtrays and model airplanes and coffee mugs. Quentin couldn’t fix everything, but he could fix these things. It was a start.

Quentin felt a small, weak spark deep in his chest. It was familiar, that feeling. However small, there it was. He felt like there was hope again.

Maybe, just maybe.

Was it possible, for things to turn out okay in the end? Was there hope that this timeline could be fixed? Could Quentin really make things _better_ for once?

_You used to believe in magic. You used to believe that there was always hope. You can believe again._

Maybe, just maybe.

\---

Alice waited outside the classroom, absently bending the light around her hand, making it appear and disappear.

She couldn’t help but think she was expecting her discipline to be a little grander. She’d always been so ahead of everyone. Her talent scared her sometimes.

She thought, maybe, when she got her discipline, it would make sense. Like they would tell her she was special, that there was something fundamentally different about her.

No. It wasn’t a common discipline, and it wasn’t a boring one, but it wasn’t exactly groundbreaking. She was just the same gifted student she always was: smarter than everyone for no good reason. It was why her whole life, her classmates and peers had never liked her. Or if they did, they idolized her.

At least if she’d gotten some big revelation for her discipline, she could put a label on _why_ she was like this.

Alice jumped up when Kady emerged.

“You got yours?” she asked, trying not to seem to eager.

Kady nodded. “Battle magic.”

“So, Physical Magic?” Alice replied, shifting on her feet. “Me too.”

Kady smiled. “Cool. We can head to the Cottage together.”

Alice smiled back, though she tried to keep it nonchalant and cool, like Kady.

Alice had never been good at _people._ She’d never had friends. She had a tendency to drive people away or intimidate them or insult them.

Kady didn’t seem like the type to be easily intimidated. Alice was trying not to get her hopes up, but it really seemed like they might be able to be friends.

When they got to the Cottage, Alice slowed. Quentin was there.

Strange, aloof, infuriating Quentin. Figures he’d be here, too. There was something seriously wrong with that guy.

Alice didn’t know what his issue was. All she knew was that she didn’t want to have to deal with it today.

He didn’t seem surprised to see them, meeting them by the door. “Alice, Kady,” he greeted.

“Quentin,” Kady replied, somehow managing to make his name sound like an insult. Alice suppressed a smile.

If Quentin noticed the hostility, he ignored it. “The note says to _let ourselves in,”_ he said. “It’s literal. The door won’t open.”

Alice frowned, walking over to the door. She tried it. Nothing.

She leaned down, trying to use a simple charm to pick the lock. A small shock surged from the door and she flinched, holding her finger that it had hit. “Huh,” she said. “This might actually be hard.”

Quentin looked like he was about to say something but Kady put a hand up.

“Battle magic,” she said. “I got this.”

Alice watched Kady’s hands carefully. Her gestures were so careful, so natural. Alice found herself feeling impressed. She was even more impressed when the door was blasted open.

She followed Kady closely into the Cottage, with Quentin trailing at a distance. Good, maybe he could sulk somewhere else.

\---

Quentin found himself feeling that familiar awkward hesitance. He remembered this party. He’d hung out with Alice the whole time, his crush on her building. She was sitting on the couch with Kady, the same place that she’d been sitting with Quentin in Timeline 40.

He felt strange. Out of place. He supposed he _was._ He kind of wondered where Quentin 9 had gone, if he’d somehow taken over some other version of him that was supposed to be here.

It didn’t matter. He was here now. Even if he wanted to get back to his time, and Timeline 40, he wouldn’t have any idea how to do it. Besides, he’d committed to trying to stop that future he’d been in from ever happening. The drive he’d felt when he’d first seen Eliot was dwindling, though.

Quentin stuck close to the walls of the Cottage, keeping apart from everyone else. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to hang out.

He wondered if he could manage to slip away completely, find his room upstairs and avoid the party altogether.

No such luck. “Quentin,” Eliot greeted, coming up behind him. “Come, come.”

Eliot slung an arm around Quentin’s shoulders, pulling him to the corner couch where Margo was already stretched out. Quentin sat stiffly at the edge, tapping a finger against his thigh.

Margo leaned over Eliot, nudging Quentin’s arm. “So, you got your discipline?”

Quentin nodded awkwardly.

“Well?” she prompted. “Come on, what is it?”

“Luckily, it’s physical magic, so you get to hang with _us,”_ Eliot said, brushing Quentin’s hair back affectionately.

Quentin took a long breath to steady himself. He couldn’t act weird around them. “Mender of small objects,” he said. Somehow, it sounded smaller as he told them, smaller than the feeling he’d gotten when he remade the mug.

“Interesting,” Margo said charitably. “Uncommon.”

“How small are we talking here?” Eliot said, with a wry smile.

Quentin let out a short laugh. “Sunderland had me fix a mug.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so useful here,” Margo replied. “You have _no_ idea how often people break glasses at these parties.”

Eliot nodded gravely. “It’s a frankly improbable amount.”

“Such a hazard,” Margo added.

“Last year we lost such a nice set of wine glasses,” Eliot said with a dramatic sigh. “Shame you weren’t around then.”

It was so strange, to see Eliot and Margo like this. The way they use to be, with their layers of personas and their affectations and their armor. Quentin knew so much more of them then they’d be willing to reveal right now.

In a way, he missed them. And he wasn’t sure how to find them again. He supposed it was just going to take time, but he really wasn’t sure how much any of them had.


	7. The Weight of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all actuality, Quentin shouldn't be put in charge of anything, but that's neither here nor there.   
> I'm having fun writing this. I hope you're having fun reading it.

Lying on his bed in his old room in the Cottage, Quentin stared at the ceiling, trying to sort through what he could do to make sure no one got hurt.

He knew that in all of the timelines, he and Julia died. In most of them, so had everyone else. In his timeline, the only one where they’d succeeded in defeating the Beast, Alice had turned herself into a niffin.

There weren’t exactly examples Quentin could draw on for how this could go better. He didn’t have a map to follow.

It was frustrating, too, to have to go through the motions. He still had to go to class, do homework, take tests. It all felt so meaningless compared to the grand scheme of things. They were going to die if he failed. All his friends, everyone that mattered to him.

He felt like he was running out of time. He _was_ running out of time. He had to handle all the crises that led up to the Beast, all the things that the Beast had done to hurt them before they even knew what they were doing. He had to make it to Fillory. He had to get the Leo blade again. He had to find that spell they used. He had to learn it. He couldn’t make it Alice’s responsibility this time.

God, there was _so much._ He couldn’t keep his focus long enough to actually get anything done. He felt like he couldn’t get out of bed, or eat, or shower, let alone manufacture a plan that would get them all out of this fucking mess unscathed.

He needed help. That was the truth. But he couldn’t ask for it.

Knowing what he knew, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he pulled any of his friends into this. They were involved. He knew they were. And the hard facts were that no matter what he did, they’d _be_ involved. But he couldn’t stomach it, he couldn’t stomach dragging them in himself.

Jane had chosen the wrong person. Quentin had been on the verge of shattering in his timeline, and now, he was useless. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do anything.

If he was being honest with himself, he was sure he was going to get everyone killed. What good were his minor mendings here?

_That spark of hope._ He tried to focus on it, but it was already so dulled.

He was going to drown.

There was a knock at the door. “Quentin?” Eliot’s voice came.

Quentin sat up quickly, composing himself. “Yeah, what is it?” he called back.

Eliot burst into the room, holding a violently shaking box. He dropped it on the ground, closing the door behind him.

Ah. The book. Quentin remembered this.

“I need your help,” Eliot said, pacing the room. Quentin kept his eyes on the box. It rattled, shifting to the left. “Highest priority.”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with the box,” Quentin replied flatly.

“We have a real problem,” Eliot said, glancing towards him. “Professor Sunderland came looking for a book from the Physical Cottage Library, and it’s missing.”

It occurred to Quentin that it had been strange that Eliot had come to him for help rather than Margo. There’d been no real reason for it.

“I diverted her attention, but it’s only a matter of time until she comes back. We _need_ to get that book back, Quentin. Lives are at stake here.” Eliot stopped pacing, standing in front of where Quentin sat on the bed.

“Lives?” Quentin said, an eyebrow raised.

“We have occasional parties,” Eliot said. “During one, someone took a book. If we don’t find that book, the faculty are going to take a harder look at our parties, and that cannot happen.”

“Okay, but… Lives?” Quentin repeated.

Eliot sighed, shooting him an exasperated look. “The parties are important, Quentin.”

Quentin smiled a little at that.

Eliot frowned. “This is very serious.”

“No, of course,” Quentin replied, but he couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

Eliot rolled his eyes before grabbing Quentin’s wrist and pulling him to his feet. “When I graduate, and you have to spend a year at the Cottage without me here, _then_ you’ll understand.”

Quentin could only focus on how close they were standing, and how Eliot’s hand still hadn’t left his wrist. A million images flashed in his mind—Eliot’s lips against his when they were drunk after the monumentally bad idea that was the emotions spell, Eliot looking up at him with a crown newly on his head, Eliot’s hand putting a key in the lock of grandfather clock, Eliot hunched over the Mosaic, Eliot with his arms around Quentin after Arielle died, Eliot, Eliot, Eliot. Eliot telling him that those fifty years they remembered, it wasn’t really them, and it couldn’t be.

Eliot holding a gun in Blackspire, telling Quentin what he hadn’t agreed to. Eliot getting a fleeting moment to tell Quentin that he was still alive, before the Monster came back.

Quentin didn’t know what to do with the weight of everything that existed in the space between them. None of it had even fucking _happened_ yet.

_You could tell him the truth._

The temptation was there. Lay it all out, hope for the best.

But, no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Eliot about any of it. He _knew_ Eliot. And all those feelings, all that baggage, all those memories… Eliot would freak out. He’d run away. Quentin knew him. It would only make things worse.

And besides, Quentin couldn’t put him through all that. Quentin wouldn’t want Eliot to have to deal with everything he knew.

“Right,” Quentin said quickly, clearing his throat. “So. Let’s find this book.”

\---

It was possible that Julia had been neglecting the fact that she’d had an entire existence before Brakebills. Certainly if this phone call was any indication.

_“We were supposed to go out for your birthday, you know,”_ James said. _“I had no idea if you were going to come, so I just waited at the bar.”_

Julia winced. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… Phones don’t really work well out here.”

_“Out here. Out_ where, _Jules? Where is this mysterious program? And are you ever coming back to visit?”_

“I’ll come back to visit. Just… James, this place is unbelievable. You gotta understand, this is a dream come true. I _have_ to be here.”

_“What about Yale? We were supposed to go together. We were supposed to move in together. Remember?”_

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

_“Just tell me if I’m being crazy here,”_ James said. _“But I really, really pictured a future with you. Am I deluding myself? Just be honest with me.”_

“You’re not… You’re not deluding yourself. I love you.” Julia took a steady breath. She _did_ love James. Just not as much as she loved Brakebills. “Look, it’s a three-year program. I’ll be back before you know it.”

_“Jules, three years? That’s not nothing.”_ James sighed into the phone, a noise that crackled in Julia’s ear. _“And what am I supposed to think, you know? You and Quentin—you know, the guy who’s been in love with you since high school—you both just vanish, off to the same super exclusive program and I’m stuck here.”_

Julia’s sympathy immediately wore thin. “You’re making this about me and Quentin? _Really?_ We haven’t had _this_ fight enough?”

_“Jules, I’m sorry, but try to see things from my perspective. He’s been hanging around you like a puppy for years, and then you suddenly move away with him.”_

“Yeah, because I got into an amazing program at an _amazing_ school,” Julia snapped. “If you seriously think I’d abandon Yale to run off and follow a guy, then maybe you _are_ deluded.”

_“No, I know_ exactly _where your priorities lie, Julia. Clearly. Yale and I weren’t good enough for you. I get it.”_

Julia scoffed. “Are you hearing yourself, James? What, did you want me to give up the chance of a lifetime for you? Give up my ambitions, my dreams?”

_“I thought Yale was your dream. I thought I was.”_

“It was my dream. For a long time.”

_“Just until something better came along.”_

Julia clutched the phone. “Don’t be like that, James.”

_“Like what? Like I deserve better than being abandoned like this, with no conversation, no explanation?”_ James paused, taking a shaky breath. It almost sounded like he was crying. _“I’m not waiting three years for you, Julia.”_

And there it was.

“You won’t have to,” Julia said quietly. “Goodbye, James.”

_“Wait—”_

She slammed the phone down before he could say anything else. She knew he’d been bluffing. That he _would’ve_ waited three years if she’d just done a little groveling like he’d wanted. It just wasn’t worth it.

If he really thought that she could be the type of girl willing to give up ambition and education for a guy, then he didn’t know her at all.

“Boyfriend trouble?” said a voice nearby. Julia turned. Penny.

“Not anymore,” she said, as brightly as she could manage. She wasn’t going to fall apart over _this._

Penny smiled a little. “I see.”

She shot him a good-natured glare. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He put his hands up. “Don’t worry, I don’t have to. Mind-reading, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no venom in it. “Just mind your own business, psychic.”

Penny winced, shaking his head and laughing. “Psychic. I hate that word.”

“What would you prefer?” she asked.

He took a few slow steps towards her. “My name works fine.”

“There’s no way Penny is your real name,” Julia replied.

“Let me buy you a drink and maybe I’ll tell you my real name,” Penny said.

Julia rolled her eyes again. She shot him a smirk before walking off, back towards the library.

The sadness and the regret hit her about halfway there.

She’d been with James for years. He’d been a huge part of her life. She could feel her throat tightening. Breaking up with him both did and didn’t feel right.

Like there was so recently a time when she couldn’t have imagined life without him, when she was so excited to move in with him. Then again, she also couldn’t have imagined this place, this beautiful, impossible place.

She’d forgotten about their plans for her birthday. She’d forgotten to call him. She’d put all of herself into being a Magician.

It hurt to break up with James. Of course it hurt.

She tried to steel herself.

This was for the best. Dating would only distract her from her studies here.

And she was going to be extraordinary.

\---

The entire process went a little smoother this time around, seeing as Quentin didn’t have to be confronted by Julia when they found the hedge witches. Quentin was, once again, immensely glad that he was in a timeline where Julia had gotten in to Brakebills.

Quentin carried the box with the two books as Eliot sauntered a pace ahead of him with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Crisis averted,” Eliot said, opening the Cottage door for Quentin.

They headed to the library and Quentin took care putting the books back on the shelf. Eliot left the room for a moment, reappearing with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“To celebrate the success,” he said, handing one of the glasses to Quentin and pouring.

Quentin smiled in thanks before taking a sip and heading for the two chairs in the corner.

“Not that I wasn’t happy to help,” Quentin said as he sat down. “But why ask me to come? Why not go yourself, or ask Margo?”

Eliot sighed as he took the other chair. “It’s always a good rule to use the buddy system when dealing with hedges. And, alas, Margo was busy today.”

Quentin knew that she wasn’t.

He glanced at Eliot.

_That’s not me, and that’s definitely not you, not when we have a choice._

This Eliot was not the person that Quentin had cheated on Alice with. He was not the person that had resigned himself to staying in Fillory forever for the greater good. He was not the person that Quentin spent fifty years with.

When they’d first met, Quentin had been charmed by him. He’d wanted desperately for Eliot to like him. And he hadn’t even had to try—he and Eliot became friends so fast.

Something about being with Eliot had always been so _easy._ So simple, in a way.

“You know, Quentin,” Eliot said nonchalantly, taking a sip of wine. “Typically, when someone stares at me like that, the night ends with a blowjob.”

Quentin started coughing mid-sip and he had to put his glass down. His face got hot instantly. “Oh, uh—I, um, I—”

Eliot burst out laughing. “Oh, Q, relax. It’s cute how easily you get flustered.”

Now that he’d put his glass down, Quentin realized he had absolutely no idea what to do with his hands. He grabbed it again and took several sips, even though he’d just barely finished coughing. He almost choked again.

He glanced at Eliot, who was just smiling fondly at him. He couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“Are you going to be alright there, Q?” Eliot said, a kind of smug amusement in his tone.

“Mhm, just give me a sec,” Quentin replied, taking another sip.

“Take your time,” Eliot said.

He downed the rest of his glass. Eliot laughed again, a bright, open sound.

_This is going to kill me,_ Quentin thought to himself.  


	8. An Honest Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know I'm only like, four episodes in to the canon timeline? That's wild.

Parties were not an infrequent occurrence at the Physical Cottage, so Alice and Kady didn’t have to wait long.

Alice tried to stay casual as she looked around the room. She and Kady were hovering by the door to the kitchen. Quentin would appear eventually, and they’d just have to get him alone for a few minutes.

Kady saw him before Alice did.

“Hey, Quentin,” Kady said, maybe a little aggressively. “Come here. We’ve got things to talk to you about.”

Quentin hesitated, but he looked resigned to the idea as he followed them into the kitchen.

Alice put the three shot glasses down on the counter, pushing one towards Quentin.

Kady and Alice exchanged a glance. Kady lifted her glass first, and the three of them downed their shots together.

Kady turned back to Quentin. “So Quentin,” she said, her tone casual. “How are you feeling?”

“Super depressed, but really, that’s nothing new,” Quentin answered automatically. He paused, looking at his drink. “Wait. Did you guys… Did you guys put truth serum in here?”

Alice straightened up, flicking her hair back. “We just needed to have an honest conversation.”

“Oh my god,” Quentin said with a short, incredulous laugh. He put the glass down carefully and ran an anxious hand over his hair. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

Alice pursed her lips, impatient. “So. Seriously. Is it possible to make a niffin human again?”

“Shit.” Quentin sighed, running his hand over his hair again. “Yes.”

“You’ve done it?” Alice prompted.

Quentin clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

“Tell us how,” Alice replied.

“It’s difficult. Almost impossible. You’ll never be able to do it just the two of you.” Quentin glanced away from them, tapping his thumb against the table. “You need a ridiculous amount of power. I can write down the spell for you—like I have a choice—but it’s complicated. You need the spell, but you also need batteries, and a way to trap the niffin, and you need Charlie’s Shade.”

“His… Shade?” Alice asked.

“Batteries?” Kady asked at the same moment.

“Batteries, like magic batteries. That or about a hundred Master Magicians,” Quentin replied. “Shades are harder. Shades that have been severed wind up in the Underworld. In Elysium. You’d have to find a dragon to get there, have something that the dragon thinks is worth trading, and then find a way to Elysium, and then you’d have to find his specific Shade. As well as a way to bring it back with you. It's a whole thing.”

“Wait… Did you say dragon?” Kady said slowly.

“And you… _You_ did all this?” Alice asked.

“I had help,” Quentin said. He looked pained, and Alice almost regretted slipping him the truth serum. Almost. “Look. You wanted to ask me about how to turn a niffin human again. I can’t lie. Ask me if I think you should.”

Alice hesitated. “Do you think I should?” she asked, her voice smaller.

“No,” Quentin answered immediately. “I don’t. The person that I brought back, she hated me for it. I don’t think she ever really forgave me. Charlie has been a niffin for years. He won’t be the same.”

Alice felt herself crumpling a little.

Kady glanced at her before looking back at Quentin. “Do you regret it?” she asked. “Bringing that girl back?”

Quentin looked pained again, like he was trying not to answer. He glanced at Alice again before looking at the floor. “No,” he said quietly.

Kady leaned forward. “Then I guess you don’t have the right to tell anyone else what to do.” She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, placing them in front of Quentin. “Now write down what we need to know.”

Quentin sighed, picking up the pen. He paused, closing his eyes tightly. “I’ll write what I remember. But please, don’t… Don’t ask me anything else.”

“One last question,” Alice said. She tried to say it gently, kindly, but she thought it came out more sharply than she intended. “Where should we start?”

Quentin opened his eyes. He tapped the pen against the paper a few times and started to write. “In a couple weeks, we’re going to be sent as a class to work with a specific professor. Don’t ask me how I know this. His name is Mayakovsky. He’s the one I got the batteries from. Start there.”

“Mayakovsky?” Alice repeated.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. He pushed the paper back towards her and looked up icily. “Am I free to go?”

She took the paper and nodded tersely. “Thank you.”

Quentin just clenched his jaw, getting up and leaving the room briskly.

“Did he say dragon?” Kady said.

\---

Quentin walked as fast as he could without drawing any attention to himself.

How long did it take truth serum to wear off? He didn’t remember. All he knew was that he had to _fucking hide_ until it did.

He lucked out that Kady and Alice hadn't asked him anything that would’ve forced him to tell them about, well, everything.

He shuddered to think where that conversation might’ve gone if they’d asked more specifics about the person he’d brought back.

_Oh, yeah, I actually brought you back, Alice. Well not this you. A different you. Right, context, I’m from an alternate timeline and we’re all going to fucking die. Soon, in all likelihood, because really, we’re all counting on me to not screw this up, so let’s face it, we’re fucked. Sorry to be the one to break it to you. Good luck with your brother, though. Maybe you’ll bring him back in time for him to die with the rest of us._

He was so not interested in trying to explain every level of how fucked up this situation was to anyone.

 _Truth serum._ He should’ve fucking known.

Right. Well. Now Alice and Kady were going to try to make Charlie human again. Add it to the goddamn list of things that Quentin had to worry about.

The list was long.

Quentin took a deep breath, counting softly.

So Jane chose wrong. So Quentin kept making a mess of things. So he still had no semblance of an idea how to actually fix any of this.

What else was _fucking_ new?

Quentin picked up the nearest Fillory and Further book and threw it across the room. It crashed into the glass of water on his dresser and they both tumbled to the ground, the glass shattering.

“Fuck,” Quentin muttered to himself.

He walked over slowly, avoiding the shards. With careful fingers, he gingerly picked up the book, examining it. It was the third book in the series. One of his first editions. The back cover had water all over it.

He sighed shakily, laying it down gently and wiping the cover with his sleeve. _It’s only the cover,_ he told himself, but he could feel himself getting choked up.

God, why did he even _care_ about these stupid books anymore? What did they ever really do for him?

Yeah, whatever, they saved his life when he was sixteen. And nineteen. And twenty-two. So fucking what? Was it _worth_ it?

He took another shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed. Was he really going to cry over this?

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Of fucking course he was going to cry over this.

There was a light tap on his door and he stiffened.

“Quentin?” came a sing-song voice. “You’re not up here hiding from the party, are you? Because I just can’t allow that.”

Quentin brushed the tears away quickly. “I’ll be out in a minute, El,” he called back. He winced as he heard his voice break.

There was a beat of silence. “Q, are you okay?”

Eliot’s voice had changed, the affectation dropped.

Quentin steeled himself, ready to put up a front.

“Not really,” he replied. _Fuck, the truth serum. Shit shit shit._

Another beat of silence. “Oh. Can… Can I come in?”

“Sure. Might actually be the only thing that could make me feel better.”

Quentin absently wondered if it was too late to jump out the window.

Eliot came in, shutting the door carefully behind him and leaning against it.

Quentin glanced at the window. _Yeah, probably too late to jump out._

“May I ask what’s wrong?” Eliot said slowly. He studied Quentin’s face, his eyes guarded.

“I’d really rather you didn’t.” Finally, something Quentin could be honest about.

Quentin could almost feel Eliot getting uncomfortable and realizing that he was too fucked up to be friends—or anything else—with.

“Hm. Why’s that?” Eliot’s voice was so light and tentative.

Quentin looked at him, feeling a pain in his chest. “Well, uh—see, I got slipped truth serum. And there are some things that I just—I really, really don’t want to be honest about.”

Eliot’s expression softened. “I can certainly understand that.”

He walked towards Quentin slowly, almost cautiously. Quentin watched as Eliot glanced around, noticing the book and the water and the glass.

“Okay,” Eliot said. “Okay.”

He stopped right by Quentin, standing close enough that Quentin could feel their shirts brush. Eliot took a breath, putting one hand on Quentin’s shoulder and the other lightly against his chest.

Quentin could hardly breathe for a moment. _Eliot’s hand putting a key in the lock of a grandfather clock, Eliot hunched over the Mosaic, Eliot making dinner with Arielle, Eliot holding Teddy, Eliot’s lips against his, Eliot painting the door of their little cottage. A monster with Eliot’s face and eyes._

“Listen, I’m not going to try to guess what’s going on,” Eliot said, glancing briefly at Quentin before looking down at the broken glass. “But, that right there _,_ you are uniquely qualified to fix. Mender of small objects, right?”

Quentin glanced at Eliot, feeling utterly helpless for a moment. Eliot offered a slight smile, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Quentin took a breath and directed his attention back to the broken glass. His hands trembled slightly as he went through the motions, but the glass gathered itself up like it knew what it was doing. The last tiny shards glittered as they found their places.

Eliot let out a breath. “See?” he said. “Just like new.”

He stepped away from Quentin, putting the glass back on the dresser. Then he touched the back cover of the book lightly, brushing his fingertips across it. Quentin watched as his hands went through the quick, simple spell to dry off the water.

Eliot glanced back at Quentin, smiling quickly before guiding him over to the bed to sit down.

Quentin noticed how Eliot sat just close enough for their knees to touch. _Eliot braiding Arielle’s hair, Eliot falling asleep at the table in the sun, Eliot philosophizing about the beauty of all life._

“It’s… going to be okay, Q,” Eliot said, speaking carefully.

Quentin let out a short laugh. “Is it?” he replied.

Eliot cracked a smile. “I have no idea.”

Quentin smiled back, feeling himself leaning in to Eliot. The feeling of familiarity was comforting. _Eliot._

“Since you are on truth serum, though,” Eliot started, his air of nonchalance returning. He put an arm around Quentin as Quentin leaned in. “Can I just ask one thing?”

“Well, I can’t stop you,” Quentin replied.

“How is this vest working for me? Now, be honest,” Eliot said.

“Eliot, you look good in anything and you know it.” Well, it was the truth.

“Mm, but I do so love hearing other people say it.”

\---

Penny was, to say the least, not enjoying his week.

Getting his discipline had been… well, not exactly a fun experience.

 _Traveler._ All it really felt like to him was confirmation that he was kidding himself when he tried to belong anywhere. It was literally a part of him that he wouldn’t be able to stay in one place. He could never truly have a home.

Penny didn’t want to admit that it was kind of devastating.

Better to just accept it and move on. No need to dwell.

Learning about the voice in his head, now that was a much harsher reality to face.

Quentin had just told him, just said the words, like they didn’t rewrite every single experience Penny had with magic. Like those words hadn’t taken away the one thing that had gotten him this far.

He wouldn’t have made it past seventeen without that voice. That voice, that had been lying to him, tricking him, manipulating him. And he’d been so desperate for anyone to care that he’d made it easy.

The Beast. Some monster that Penny didn’t have any knowledge of.

Part of him wanted to blame Quentin. Wanted to say that Quentin was lying, or stupid, or vindictive, or didn’t know what he was talking about. Part of him wanted to lash out at the guy.

Really, he was just desperate for any kind of distraction. Something to take his mind off the way his entire life had just fallen to pieces.

_Oh, there’s something._

The pretty girl from the class. The snarky one. Julia.

She was sitting cross-legged on a bench, hunched over a few open books. She absent-mindedly twirled a pen in her hand, stopping every once in a while to scribble something down in her notebook.

Penny leaned against the tree by the bench, carefully pulling out his cool persona. “Hey,” he said casually.

She glanced up. “You again,” she greeted, but she smiled.

“Me again,” he confirmed. “So about that drink we talked about…”

“Hm, can’t say I remember that,” she replied. She closed her notebook. “But, you know, I was about to take a break from studying. So, tell you what, I’ll let you buy me coffee.”

“Let me?” Penny echoed, a smirk growing on his face. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“I’m a very generous person,” she replied, sliding her books into her bag.

Penny kept looking at her as they walked towards the campus coffee stand. The dark brown of her eyes, her long eyelashes, the gentle curl of her hair. The knowing glance she gave him, with the amused roll of her eyes and the twitch of a smile at her lips.

_Yeah, pretty good distraction._

He felt a tug of warmth. Well, his week wasn’t all bad.


	9. Alumni Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: Vague Spoilers] Consider this me fully confiscating these characters and this story from the show writers. If they're not giving Q the story he deserves, I'm going to try my best to. I hope that doesn't sound too arrogant. I'm for sure in this for the long haul now, guys. I hope you are, too. I understand if you'd rather pull away from the show and fandom as a whole, though.  
> I hope you're all doing okay. I'm not.

Alumni week was maybe Quentin’s best opportunity to lay some groundwork on how to defeat the Beast. Classes and homework were light, with the understanding that students would be focusing on networking with potential mentors and the Welter’s Tournament.

Quentin had the advantage of knowing that there was no use trying to impress a mentor, since they’d all die soon anyway. No point in trying to plan for your future when you don’t have one.

Everyone was so frantic and high strung this week, it wasn’t hard to avoid people. Everyone had something going on.

Quentin couldn’t worry about how to act around Margo and Eliot. He couldn’t worry about Penny knowing the truth, and how that might affect things. He couldn’t worry about Julia being able to see that something was wrong with him.

And he really, really couldn’t worry about whatever the hell Kady and Alice were doing with the information they’d gotten from him right now. If he started dealing with that, it would just never end. There wasn’t time for it. As much as it scared Quentin to know what they were planning to do.

If Quentin wanted to see if there was any chance of him bringing down Martin Chatwin alone and sparing his friends any hurt, now was the time. Now was the time to see if he could really cut it.

Shit. There was no way he could do this.

They’d had two main plans for how to defeat the Beast: the Leo blade and the Rhinemann Ultra spell.

If Quentin could help it, he wanted to avoid Fillory for as long as he could. So the spell it was.

He didn’t remember where that professor who’d given them the spell lived, but he did remember the book that her address had been hidden in.

He managed to make it out of the Cottage without running into anyone.

When he got to the library, he ran directly into Julia.

“Q!” she greeted, hugging him. “God, feels like I’ve barely seen you. How’ve you been? How’re the Physical Kids?”

“Hey, Jules,” he replied, trying desperately to seem even remotely enthusiastic. It did not work. “Yeah, I’ve just been so busy with classes. The Cottage is… great. How’s being a Knowledge Student?”

She beamed. “Amazing. I can’t even picture what life would’ve been like if we’d gone to Yale instead, you know?”

Quentin tried to imagine it. Life as he would’ve lived it without magic. It wasn’t wholly unappealing, given the price he’d paid for magic.

“Anyway, I can’t believe you still haven’t gotten to meet my Knowledge friends,” Julia continued. “We _seriously_ have to catch up. And you need to introduce me to your new friends at the Cottage!”

“Right, of course,” Quentin replied.

Julia brushed Quentin’s hair back from his forehead. “I always pictured us in the same dorm. Going to magic school, I mean. The dream was always that we’d be roommates and we’d stay up all night studying and we’d… I don’t know, we’d talk and do spells and go on coffee runs into the city on days off.”

Quentin smiled, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. “We can still do most of those things. Whenever you want.”

Julia brightened. “Well, what are you doing now?”

Quentin faltered. He glanced towards the books, the area he’d remembered _Hotel Spa Potions_ being. “Uh… Well, I… was just going to hang out in the library, I guess,” he said slowly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, I know we’re supposed to be rivals later in the Welter’s Tournament, but you’re very suspicious right now.”

Quentin let out a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I heard myself.”

Julia put her hands up, laughing. “Well, don’t let me interfere with your secret plans,” she said. She smiled. “But seriously, we have to hang out soon. I have things to talk to you about.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Quentin replied.

He waited until she’d left the library to get the book from the shelf.

He flipped to the back to find the clue that had led them to the professor.

\---

“From what I’ve figured about Mayakovsky, he’s not going to help out of the goodness of his heart,” Kady said with a sigh. She sat down on Alice’s bed. “We can’t ask him.”

“Right, because that would just be too easy,” Alice replied. She leaned back against her headboard.

“And we’re not going to know the layout of the place until we actually get there,” Kady added. “Which Quentin wasn’t super specific about.”

“Lucky for us that we’ve had a little practice. Okay, so we have to get the batteries and the spells from Mayakovsky without him realizing,” Alice said. “And we have to get something powerful enough to get you off the hook with Marina.”

“So we just break in to the office of a Master Magician and rob him,” Kady said, sighing again, more heavily. She leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “Should be easy.”

“We can do this,” Alice said. She knew she was right, too. They were just two first year girls, learning magic for the first time. Mayakovsky wouldn’t suspect them for a second.

“I think you’re being a little optimistic here,” Kady replied.

Alice scoffed. “Hardly. I’m realistic. And we _can_ do this.”

Kady glanced over at her. “You know, there’s no proof this’ll work. We’re just trusting Quentin. And there’s no proof that I can even be bought out of Marina’s debt.”

“It’s out best shot,” Alice replied.

“How the hell are we going to find a dragon?” Kady continued.

Alice pursed her lips. “One thing at a time, Kady.”

\---

Quentin was intercepted by Penny before he could leave campus.

“Where have you been?” Penny asked.

Quentin suppressed a sigh. “Around. Look, I’m busy—”

“You knew about the Beast being in my head,” Penny said. His tone was edging on accusatory. “Did you know about the girl I keep hearing, the one in the dungeon? Did you know about what I am?”

Quentin paused, unsure of what to say. “In my timeline, we end up rescuing the girl,” he said.

“Great, that makes me feel real better about hearing her begging for help in my mind,” Penny retorted sardonically.

Quentin stopped walking, letting out a frustrated sigh. “God, Penny, what do you want from me?”

“Man, I don’t know what’s going on here. You do.” He turned towards Quentin.

“Jesus, fuck, I’m not here to tell you your future!” Quentin snapped. “What makes you think I actually know any better than you do? I’ve got my own fucking problems here, and as much as I’d love to be able to tell everyone _exactly_ what they have to do so nothing gets fucked up, I can’t! I just can’t. I’m one person, Penny.”

Penny blinked, taken aback. He clenched his jaw. “Look, man, I…”

Quentin sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. “We’ll save the girl, okay? I promise,” he said quietly. “But I am telling you that it has to wait for now.”

Penny crossed his arms, staring Quentin down. “Fine. Then tell me how to help.”

\---

Penny looked around skeptically at the garden. “This is the place?”

Quentin nodded. He walked down the path, hesitating a moment before knocking on the door. He counted to twenty before knocking again.

Penny sighed heavily. “Anyone there?” he called, his tone impatient.

The door swung open. “May I help you?” the woman said in a chipper voice.

Quentin took a breath. “Professor Bigby,” he greeted.

“Yes, that’s me,” she replied with a smile.

“We need a spell,” he said. “The Rhinemann Ultra.”

She laughed. “Ah, do you, now? Of course! You know, I always told Henry that he’d come _crawling_ back.” She shifted on her feet to look around behind them. “Alas, he does not appear to be with you. Disappointing.”

“Yeah, okay, look, we’d really like to just get the spell and go,” Quentin replied, trying to keep his tone as polite as he could. Not very effectively.

“Well, come on inside,” Bigby said, opening the door further and gesturing them in. “You boys could use some tea, I’m sure.”

Penny and Quentin exchanged a look before they followed her in.

“Sit, sit,” she said, leading them to the couch. She brought out tea and a tray of small cakes before sitting does across from them with a cheerful sigh.

“Listen, the spell?” Quentin prompted.

“Right, right, that,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “You know, neither one of you has _nearly_ enough power to actually cast it. You’d burn up in seconds.”

Quentin gritted his teeth. Her tone was entirely too cheerful for him, considering the whole thing was conjuring images of Alice screaming as she burned in blue fire. This wasn’t a game.

“Yeah, I got it,” he replied. His voice developed an edge. “We’ll handle it.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, leaning forward with a delighted grin on her face. “You, my dear, are not from here. Are you? Don’t bother answering, I already know. How _interesting.”_

Quentin stifled a sigh, looking away.

“Yeah, super fucking fascinating,” Penny said. “Can we get the spell or not?”

She waved a hand at him dismissively, keeping her eyes on Quentin. “Now just how did you get here? You are _absolutely_ not supposed to be here.”

Quentin looked back at her, annoyed. He didn’t answer.

“Right, of course,” she replied, her voice a little softer. She studied his face for a moment, her expression growing more thoughtful.

“The spell?” he asked quietly, breaking eye contact again.

“Naturally,” Bigby replied, brightening. She got up and with a flourish, waved a piece of cloth until the spell appeared on it. She offered it to Quentin.

He reached out for it, but she pulled it back.

“I don’t believe I’ll need to tell you anything about this spell,” she told him. Her voice had gotten serious suddenly. “Considering you already know. But tell me honestly, dear. Do you truly intend to stay here once you’ve completed your task? Do you believe that you can?”

Quentin shot her a look, clenching his jaw. He took the cloth, got up, and wordlessly headed for the door.

\---

Quentin got back to the Cottage when a party was in full swing. Music and laughter filled the room.

“Quentin!” Margo called out to him, rushing to the door to meet him. “I can’t _believe_ you missed the tournament. You should’ve seen how badly we beat the Nature students! They didn’t stand a fucking chance, it was _incredible._ ”

“Oh man, sorry I missed that,” Quentin replied.

Margo narrowed her eyes at him. “You _should_ be.”

She glared at him silently for just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

She broke out smiling. “Lucky for you that we won, or I’d be kicking your sorry ass right about now.”

Quentin let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. Margo always could be scary when she wanted to be.

Margo grabbed his arm, tugging. “Well, come join the party, Coldwater! Don’t celebrate too much, though, since you were absolutely no help.”

“I’ll be sure to hold back,” Quentin replied.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on him,” said Eliot, who’d just appeared with drinks. He handed one to Quentin, patting him gently on the arm.

“Right,” Margo replied. She turned back to Quentin, a little more serious. “I _was_ sorry to hear about your dad.”

Quentin froze. “What?”

Margo blinked. “Your… dad? We heard the news. Wasn’t that why you were missing today?”

Eliot put a hand on Margo’s shoulder. “Bambi, I don’t think he’s gotten the news yet,” he said, his voice low. 

Right. Alumni week had been when Quentin heard about his dad’s cancer. He remembered now.

Quentin felt just a little bit like the room was off kilter.

“No, I, uh, I’d gotten the news,” he said quickly. He took a long sip of his drink. “Guess it just hasn’t really hit me yet.”

His dad was still _alive._

Quentin both desperately wanted to go see him, and desperately wanted to put it off. For him, it was only just recently that he’d had to clean out his dad’s place. That he’d broken all those model airplanes. That he missed the funeral.

But this was before all that had happened. His dad was alive. And his dad was dying.

Quentin couldn’t fathom what he was supposed to be feeling in this moment.

“Hey, we get it,” Margo said, shrugging a shoulder. “Family is hard. Come take your mind off it.”

He let Margo and Eliot guide him into the other room. Margo pulled him to the couch and Eliot went to the bar.

“This calls for better drinks,” Eliot said, gathering up ingredients and setting out three glasses with a flourish.

\---

Julia stood on the porch quietly, keeping her eyes on Quentin.

He didn’t make a move to knock.

“Q,” she said softly.

“I know,” he replied.

Julia studied his face. He seemed older, somehow. She supposed that might be what happens when you find out your parent is dying. You think they’ll be there for you forever, and then life happens. Quentin seemed less like a kid than he ever had. He didn’t even seem anxious. Just steady and tired and quiet.

She remembered when they were kids, how Quentin’s dad seemed ageless, invincible. Always smiling, welcoming.

She remembered him taking them both out for ice cream and letting them get sundaes on the last day of school. Him dropping them off at the movies for midnight releases. Him catching them smoking in the backyard.

She remembered Quentin’s dad being the one to tell her about when Quentin had been admitted to the hospital when they were sixteen. She remembered him driving her to the hospital to visit Quentin, playing the Fillory books on tape.

She remembered how awkward it had been, seeing her friend’s dad tearing up on the drive home, after Quentin had seemed to broken and empty at the hospital.

_I’m so glad Quentin has you, Julia. You know, he never… He was never very good at making friends. Before his mom and I split up, we tried—well, we tried throwing him a birthday party. We invited his whole third grade class. He was so excited—he wanted it to be magic themed, and well, he practiced all these card tricks for it… Not one of his classmates came. When he met you… Honestly, Julia, I think you saved him back then. I can’t imagine where he’d be now, if you hadn’t—_

“Do you want me to knock?” she asked.

“I don’t know when the last time I saw him was,” Quentin said flatly.

“Dinner a few months ago,” Julia replied, turning to him. “Don’t you remember? We were both disasters because we’d had to pull an all-nighter.”

Quentin didn’t take his eyes off the door. “I don’t remember it.”

“At that place on seventh. It was Italian food,” Julia continued. She studied Quentin’s face. It hadn’t been that long ago. How did he not remember? “We all got the tiramisu for dessert.”

Quentin glanced at her, almost smiling. “Right… And we had all that red wine.”

Julia chuckled. “That was such a mistake.”

He let out a long breath. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

She smiled warmly, brushing some of his hair back behind his ear. “Of course. You know I’m always here for you.”

He reached forward, finally, and tentatively knocked.

His dad looked older than Julia remembered.

“Curly Q,” he greeted with a sigh and a smiled. “And Julia. It’s great to see you.”

Julia smiled back weakly. “Great to see you, too, Ted.”

“Hey, dad,” Quentin said, his voice small. He already looked like he might cry.

But there was something in his face… Something like relief. Something like hope. Julia wasn’t sure what to make of it.


	10. Patience, Effort, Time, & Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of recent events, I'd like to issue a content warning: this chapter has discussion of depression and suicidal ideation. Please be aware of that.  
> I'd also like to issue a promise, though: I have been intending, from the beginning, to partially treat this story as a recovery narrative. I love angst as much as the next masochistic writer, but depression narratives that go somewhere positive are rare, and I'm desperate for them. This story will have angst, and it will have conflict, but that's not my end goal here. I took S4 Quentin and made him the center of this story so that I could write about remembering what hope feels like.  
> And I hope that comes through.

Quentin remembered the Trials. He did not want to have to do them again.

It was just another thing he had to go through the motions of in order to stay here and try to keep things on track. He just had to shoot an arrow at a fucking fish. He just had to chase down a fucking horse.

It was, frankly, almost boring. He knew what to do, so everything went smoother, but he just felt tired and empty. Every step of it was a waste of time when everyone’s lives were on the line.

It didn’t help that he knew that after the Trials were over, he’d have to go to Brakebills South. Which was, quite honestly, the last thing Quentin wanted to do. Mayakovsky wasn’t fun to deal with in the best of circumstances. Quentin’s only solace there was knowing that he’d be able to do those spells now with little difficulty, so maybe Mayakovsky would just leave him alone.

But Brakebills South, the Trials, the damn tests and hoops, it was all minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of things.

Except this.

The Secrets Trial.

Quentin could think of no way out of it.

It was bad enough when he’d had a crush on Alice and had to be naked in front of her, confessing secrets blindly until they managed to get at some real hidden truths of themselves.

That had been excruciating, and painful, and uncomfortable.

Now, it was even worse.

Quentin had so many fucking secrets. Was he supposed to give a full list or just the highlights? How should he organize the list? Maybe he should color-code it based on just how fucked up things were.

He’d almost tried to get Penny to be his partner, since Penny already knew some of it. And telling Penny the full truth wasn’t that scary.

But _Julia_ was at Brakebills now. And, of course, who else could really be his partner for this?

Being in front of Julia like this was a strange experience, to say the least.

Quentin wasn’t sure where to look. He basically just stared up into the trees, willing time to move faster.

“Oh, come on, Q,” Julia said. Quentin could practically hear the eye roll. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Yeah, like, when we were, you know, kids,” Quentin mumbled, still avoiding eye contact desperately.

“This is never going to work if you don’t look at me.”

“You never know.”

Julia laughed. “Q, this should be _easy._ We’ve known each other forever. What could we tell each other that we don’t already know?”

Quentin let out a short, nervous laugh. He imagined that in another version of this situation, another, younger version of him might’ve had to confess his long-standing feelings for Julia. He almost wished that was what he had to do here.

“Arms out, Q,” Julia instructed.

Quentin remembered what he’d told Alice when he had to do this before. Maybe he could just say that again. Maybe that would be true enough to work.

\---

Alice had, in the best of times, no interest in baring her soul to anyone. She didn’t know much about secrets magic, and honestly, she never wanted to know.

Up on the roof, she and Kady stood awkwardly in front of one another.

Alice could practically feel any hope at friendship slipping away. If she had to get naked and tell Kady her deepest truths, she was sure they’d never be able to look one another in the eye again.

Alice pulled the bottle of vodka out of her bag.

“I brought some help,” she said. She hated that her voice had gotten so small and timid.

“Oh, thank god,” Kady said immediately, grabbing the bottle and taking two long gulps. She handed it back to Alice. “So how is this… I mean, how is it even supposed to work?”

Alice drank. “Well. I guess we just… Take off our clothes and do it.”

Kady snorted and shot Alice a smirk. “I’ve heard that before.”

Alice could feel her face getting hot. “Let’s just… get it over with, yeah?”

They stood in front of each other, undressed. The roof was cold and Alice suppressed a shiver. She felt exposed, which she guessed was the very point of this trial.

The smell of the paint drifted around them in the crisp breeze. Alice dragged her fingers carefully along Kady’s collarbone and down her cheeks. She avoided eye contact as Kady did the same.

They both took a few more swigs of the vodka in silence before tying each other’s wrists with the rope.

The silence grew for a moment, Alice feeling awkward and cold and afraid.

Kady spoke first. “I guess we just… start telling each other things?”

The alcohol had done nothing to calm Alice’s nerves.

She finally met Kady’s eyes.

“Okay,” Kady said. “Maybe we start small. Are you a natural blonde?”

Alice frowned. “What? Yes. What kind of a question is that?”

Kady shrugged. “I don’t know. Starting small?”

\---

Once the ropes were on, Quentin’s heart started pounding. What was he supposed to say?

Julia let out a quick sigh. “Okay. So. I broke up with James.”

Quentin finally looked at her. “You did?” A small twinge of guilt hit, since he hadn’t really remember that she was even _with_ James.

Julia nodded. “Well, he said something stupid about me _running off_ with you, and he seemed so bitter about me finding something I wanted more than going to Yale with him… I think he wanted me to be the kind of girl who would give up an amazing opportunity for him.”

“He got you all wrong then,” Quentin said with a small smile.

Julia smiled back. “I think I wanted to be more upset about it than I was. But really… I’m kind of relieved. It sounds bad, but like… It’s one less thing to worry about, you know?”

“Wait, back up. Running off… with _me?”_ Quentin repeated, a little confused.

She laughed. “I know. I think he feels left out.” She nudged him a little. “Plus, I’d been forgetting to call him, but he hadn’t heard from _you_ at all. Suspicions abound, I guess.”

In his defense, Quentin had a lot going on. And if he was being honest, James hadn’t exactly been on his mind. Considering it had been years since he’d seen the guy. Or, well, thought about him.

\---

 

“We’re not going to get anywhere like that,” Alice replied.

“Alright, fine. _Serious_ stuff.” Kady paused, studying her face for a moment. “Why go through all this for your brother?”

Alice was a little taken aback by that. She was at a loss for words for a moment. It felt so obvious to her, that this was what you did when you loved someone. You put everything you had into it.

“I love him. Charlie was… I mean, he was all I had. My parents… Well, they’re…” She trailed off.

“Your parents?” Kady prompted.

Alice shrugged. “They’re… them. I don’t know, I barely know them, when I really think about it.”

“Yeah,” Kady said. “Maybe we never really know our parents. I thought I knew my mom, and then…”

“And then she traded you for Marina’s help,” Alice said softly. Her issues with her mom seemed almost petty in comparison.

“You know, I just… I _hate_ my mom sometimes.” Kady took a breath, looking up at the stars. “Marina owns me. She can just demand whatever the fuck she wants, and I can’t do shit about it. My mom… Shit, she _sold_ me to clean up her mess. I want to hate Marina more, I want to blame her more, but my mom is the one who got me into this situation.”

“Kady…” Alice started.

Kady shook her head. “But we’re being honest, right? I can’t actually hate my mom. She’s my _mom._ I fucking want to. I want to hate her, to not care what happens to her. Because she’s the one who’s really gonna pay if I defy Marina. But I don’t have the guts. Because even after all this shit, she’s still my mom. You know? She’s… she’s all I have.”

“Shit, Kady.”

Kady sniffed looking away. “Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t blame you, if you hated your mom. You know, I really do hate mine,” Alice said. “She’s… Well, god, she hasn’t done what your mom did. She’s just… she’s crazy, and she’s selfish, and she’s _mean._ She always finds a way to make it my fault when we fight. Or she finds a way to play the victim, and she wants me to apologize to her, regardless of anything she did.”

“Seems like everyone’s parents find some way to fuck them up,” Kady replied.

“My dad isn’t so bad. Just sort of useless.” Alice sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stand to be around either one of them anymore. Not since Charlie’s death. They just… They don’t seem to _care._ They don’t even want to know what happened to him. They won’t talk about him. It’s like he never existed.”

“You ever think we’d just be better off without our families?” Kady said.

“All the time,” Alice replied, almost automatically.

Kady sighed deeply. “Yeah. Me too. It sucks, because I want to be here. I want to go to Brakebills. And I want to learn magic. And it’s just another thing in my life that my mom ruined, because now I have to just sneak around and steal and lie. Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, no matter where I go, someone else is going to be in control of my life and every good thing I have is going to get destroyed because of it.”

Kady’s ropes slipped off her wrists and to the ground.

“Fuck,” she said, running a hand through her hair. Alice could see the first glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Magical fucking evidence that it’s true.”

“Just because it feels true doesn’t mean it is,” Alice said softly. “Or that it’ll be true forever.”

Kady just shook her head. “Your turn.”

Alice took a deep breath. “You know, my parents are Magicians. They went to Brakebills. I’ve known about magic my whole life, and I’m _good_ at it, but really… Really, the truth is, I _don’t_ want to be here. Magic just makes mistakes bigger and it tricks you into believing you can fix things, and then you just make them worse.”

From the roof, she could see a lot of the campus. This beautiful place. The vast expanse of grass, the stone buildings, the trees. Alice wished she could love it.

“Magic is easy. And it makes you complacent. Being good at magic, it doesn’t actually help you. It just means you get better at taking shortcuts in life. It’s a crutch. I’ve watched my parents use magic to try and solve their problems my whole life, and all it’s done is made them lazy and neurotic and irresponsible.”

She couldn’t look back at Kady. She just kept her eyes on Brakebills.

“I don’t ever want to be like that. I hold back because I don’t _want_ to get better at magic. I’ll never know how good I am, or what I’m capable of, because I’m afraid of becoming as useless and narcissistic as my mom.”

She felt the ropes loosen and fall. She turned back towards Kady, but no one was there. She was about to call out for her, about to start looking, when a sharp pain in her shoulder made her double over.

\---

“So,” Julia prompted. “Tell me something true.”

Quentin took a breath. _Here goes._ “I’m never going to be happy.”

Julia frowned. “Q…”

He shook his head. “No, Jules, don’t. It’s like… No matter what happens, I end up back there. Like I can come to this amazing school, or I could win the lottery, or I could go to Fillory, or I could meet the love of my life and grow old with them in a cottage in the woods, but it’s never going to _fix_ anything. Because I’m still me, I’m always going to be this person, and… No matter what, nothing is ever going to—to fix me, or make me feel okay.”

“Oh, Quentin,” Julia said softly.

“It is what it is, Julia,” Quentin said flatly. He didn’t want any sympathy right now. If she kept looking at him like that, he might just fall apart.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad,” she said. She reached out, touching his arm gently with her bound hands. “But it’s just another dark period, Quentin. They’re never permanent. We’ll get you through this.”

There was no good way to tell the truth here. How was he supposed to ever get through this?

“Julia, sometimes I think that it’s inevitable that I’m going to end up killing myself.” It was the most difficult honest thing he could say without talking about Timeline 40. That had to count for something, right?

A tear slipped down Julia’s face and Quentin hated himself for saying anything. She slipped her hands into his, squeezing lightly.

“The ropes aren’t coming off,” Quentin said.

“Quentin—” Julia said. Her tone was so serious, so concerned.

“No, please, can we… Can we not do this right now?” He found it hard to look her in the eye. “If this isn’t… If this isn’t the truth I need to say to get these ropes off, then we should just move on.”

Julia hesitated. “Okay, I hear you, but… Quentin, I just… I need you to know that it isn’t true.”

Quentin sighed. “Jules—”

“No, please, listen to me. We can’t leave it there,” Julia said. She was looking him in the eyes with so much meaning behind it that Quentin had to look down. “I know it feels true. And I know it felt true when you were sixteen. But I just… I _need_ you to hear me when I say that it isn’t. Quentin, you’re incredible. You’ve made it so far. Can’t you see it?”

Quentin swallowed. “I’m trying,” he said, and his voice broke.

Julia smiled, a few more tears slipping through her eyelashes. “I know. I’ve never known anyone else who tries like you do. And more than anything, you deserve to see the day that all your trying and all your persistence pays off. Because it _will._ Maybe it sounds corny, and I know you might not feel like you can believe me right now, but it will. And, god, Quentin, you deserve to see that day. You deserve to _want_ to see that day.”

Something uncoiled inside Quentin. He shivered in the gentle breeze, his skin prickling. He took a breath, looking around at Brakebills. All that green. The moon was bright enough that it sent faint shadows dappling through the trees. The tears finally spilled over, trailing down his cheeks.

Hearing those words, hearing Julia say them, he didn’t know how much he’d wanted someone to tell him all that. He didn’t know how much it would matter to hear the words out loud, in the voice of someone who loved him, someone he trusted.

He so wanted to believe her. For a moment, more than anything else, all he wanted was to believe her.

And for a moment, he realized it was almost enough to _want_ to believe it.

He hadn’t wanted to believe in anything in so long.

_Minor mendings._ There’s a trick to it. You fix one crack at a time. You can’t mend everything at once. Each crack, each break, they all require attention, their own unique kind of special care. Shattered things can be repaired, one shard at a time. It’s never hopeless. It’s never over. It just takes some time, and some effort, and some patience.

“Quentin?” Julia said softly.

“You know, Julia, I do want to,” he replied. He could hear how small his voice was. “I _do_ want to see that day.” _Even if it was sometimes hard to believe that it would ever come._

Julia smiled, and there was so much sincerity and warmth in it that Quentin almost wanted to collapse sobbing in her arms. “Then you’re part of the way there already,” she replied. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Quentin replied weakly. “I love you, too.”

“Nothing is inevitable, Quentin,” she said. “You’ve had better days. You’ll have them again.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

She just smiled. He lost track of where they were for a moment, what they were doing. 

Quentin looked down. He strained his wrists a little against the ropes.

“Whatever I need to say, this isn’t it,” he said. “We have to move on.”

Julia squeezed his hands again. “Alright,” she replied gently. “But we _have_ to talk about this later, too. After all this. Okay?”

“Okay,” he promised.

Quentin took a deep breath. Any chance he had of holding himself together felt like it was slipping away. _Fuck._ He couldn’t just fall apart. Lives were at stake.

Patience. Effort. Time. And hope.

“Your turn,” he said.

Julia pulled her hands back slowly.

“I’ve thought about it. You know, maybe I told myself I broke it off with James because he wanted me to prioritize him over my ambitions and my education.” She paused, furrowing her brow. “But, if I’m being honest, I think I would just never be able to connect with him anymore. I _love_ magic. And he’s not a Magician. God, I feel like shit saying it, but I kind of feel like I’m better than him now. Like he’s a relic from a life I outgrew. But how fucked up is that? I was in love with him. I thought I was going to marry him. What does it say about me that I can cut him out of my life like that?”

“Maybe it just says that you’re figuring out who you are,” Quentin replied.

“And who I am turns out to be someone who loves magic all the way in their soul,” Julia said. She sighed. “I don’t regret it. I mean, I regret hurting him. But I’m meant to be here. It means something to me, and I want to find out what, and I want to do it myself.”

They both watched as the ropes slipped off of Julia’s wrists, falling to the ground.

Julia lifted her hands, brushing her fingers against where the rope had been. She took a shaky breath.

“Okay, it’s all you,” Julia said. “Say what you need to say.”

Where the hell was he supposed to start?

“I think I know what I have to tell you, but… God, it’s complicated. So much has happened.” Quentin shifted his wrists, feeling like the ropes had gotten tighter. “I know you’ve noticed that I’ve been… different. I might as well just say it. I _am_ different. I’m from the future of a different timeline. I got dragged back here magically in the hopes of… fixing something.”

Julia just stared, a frown deepening on her face. She opened her mouth like she wanted to try to say something, but nothing came out.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it’s hard to believe,” Quentin said quickly. “Trust me when I tell you that this is not the craziest our lives get.”

“Jesus Christ, Q.”

The ropes just felt tighter. Quentin sighed. “Here’s the thing. I got dragged here to fix something. To… defeat a monster. To save everyone.” His voice was flat.

There was a time he would’ve done anything to be told he was the one to save the world, that he was the hero of the story.

“Where I come from… Everything had gotten so bad. I’d lost so much. I’m supposed to help this timeline, but I _can’t_. I just can’t. I can’t help anyone. I’ve failed over and over and over again, and every time I try to fix something, it feels like things just get worse. And—and now I’m fucking _stuck_ here, and all my friends, everyone I knew, everyone I _love,_  they’re all here and they haven’t gone through what I know is coming, and I can’t _stop_ all of it. And all I can think is that you’d all be better off without me, because things just get worse when I try to be the hero.”

“Quentin—”

“I just want to fall apart, Julia. I just want to let myself cry and sleep and stare at the ceiling all day, like when I was sixteen, or nineteen, or twenty-two. It’s worse than it’s ever been, and I keep having to force myself out of bed like gravity itself isn’t fighting against me, because everyone is relying on _me._ But I can't do this by myself. I need help, Jules. I need help.”

Quentin watched Julia’s eyes flick down to his wrists. He didn’t have to look. He felt them loosening and tumbling to the ground.

“Shit,” Julia breathed.

Quentin could see the questions forming in her mind. She wanted to know more. But he knew there wasn’t time to talk about it. They’d have to revisit this when they came back.

Time to fly to Brakebills South.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I wrote the line "Sometimes I think it's inevitable that I'm going to end up killing myself" before the finale aired. I strongly considered editing it out. I made the choice not to because that is a feeling that can come with depression (certainly in my experience) and I wanted to address the fact that it never has to end like that.


	11. Brakebills South in Vignettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different. Mostly because I don't like Mayakovsky and didn't want to deal with him. So, instead, this section is in vignettes, one per character perspective.   
> Bear with me here.

Julia was still in a daze as she stood in cold, gray room at Brakebills South. From the Secrets Trial, from Q’s confession, from flying.

Since she’d gotten to Brakebills, her life had seemed remarkable, extraordinary. This was the first moment it felt truly unreal.

Magic, she could understand. She and Quentin had grown up believing in magic long past they were supposed to. She was _waiting_ for a chance to believe in magic again. It felt more real to her than anything else.

And everything had been amazing, perfect, _beautiful._ Living above the library, in a room that smelled like books with big windows letting all the sunlight in. Studying outside, in the somehow always perfect weather.

Flirting with a cute boy from class. Another _Magician._ Who seemed funny and interesting and even nice, underneath all that sarcastic wit.

It was all so beautiful.

But Quentin…

She hadn’t seen it. How could she have not seen it?

She knew how, really. Quentin didn’t _want_ her to see it. And she truly thought that the magic would sweep him up, too, so she didn’t think to pay closer attention. Little did she know that the novelty had long since worn off on him.

_Unbelievable._ His story was so _unbelievable._ She knew it was true, but she couldn’t fathom how.

She glanced over at him tentatively. He was leaning on the table, hunched over with his hair in his face.

A stab of concern hit her chest.

How long had he been like this? What had _happened_ to him in that other life that had pushed him so far?

She held her tongue. She’d have to wait to ask. Everyone was quiet, but they were still in a room with several other students.

_Other students._

She looked over at Penny, who was pacing the floor. She noticed him glancing up at her. And she noticed him glancing over at Quentin.

\---

The fact that they couldn’t speak was inconvenient. As was the fact that Mayakovsky was an insufferable asshole who hovered over them, yelling every five to ten minutes.

Alice tried to catch Kady’s eye, but Kady was focused wholly on the getting the nail in the board.

The whole thing was ridiculous.

This spell was already more complicated and more difficult than it was worth, and trying to do it without speaking was frustrating.

Quentin had told them that _this_ was where they should start.

With Mayakovsky and the batteries he may or may not have, given that Quentin already got some of them for _his_ version of this spell.

Alice tried not to dwell on the idea that Quentin, quiet, sulking, annoying Quentin, had somehow already figured out how to bring a niffin back to life, and had _done it._

If Alice was being honest, it frankly hurt her pride a little that he could outdo her like that. She desperately wanted more explanation about it. Like who helped him? Who did he bring back? Are they still around? What was the aftermath like?

But she also didn’t want to _ask_ Quentin about it. Firstly, there was no way he’d tell her without being dosed with truth serum again and she didn’t think he’d drink anything she handed him now. Secondly, there was a not insignificant part of Alice that wanted to prove that she didn’t need his help, that she was just as good as him.

That wasn’t the main issue. The main issue was figuring out when she and Kady were going to break in to Mayakovsky’s office and find what they needed so they could take it. They needed their voices back.

\---

_Just don’t draw attention to yourself._

That was Quentin’s one and only goal. Get through this hellish experience, keeping his interactions with Mayakovsky to an absolute minimum.

Maybe it was a little short-sighted. Mayakovsky had been helpful in the past.

But honestly? Quentin had lived a lifetime since he’d really needed Mayakovsky’s help.

And Quentin knew more about the Beast, more about Fillory, and most importantly, more about _saving people_ than Mayakovsky could ever hope to.

He didn’t need Mayakovsky’s help. He just needed to make it through this experience so he could get back to Brakebills and actually fix everything and defeat the Beast and make sure no one got hurt.

This was a waste of his time.

Just don’t draw attention to yourself. Head down. Go through the motions. This will be over soon.

He was also avoiding Julia. He’d seen her trying to catch his eye, trying to stop him in the hallway.

He didn’t know what to say to her. _Not now, not here, in this cold, awful place. When we get back, I’ll tell you. When we get back, you can get me to talk to you. Not here. We just have to get out of here._

\---

Eliot wouldn’t describe himself as a romantic. A flirt, sure. Romantic, not so much. Eliot thought of romance roughly the same way he thought of studying: a nice idea, not something he was particularly interested in practicing long term.

Irony of ironies that he’d meet someone whilst studying in a library. Eliot did like a plot twist.

There wasn’t a way to describe it, really—he and Margo were searching through books for the rest of the spell to make the magic gin, bantering as usual in their layers of sarcasm.

And _then._ Out of nowhere, appeared a handsome man with a warm smile that Eliot might have—in the _least_ corny way possible—melted for. Just a little.

He just _happened_ to know the exact information that Eliot and Margo were struggling with. Now, Eliot wasn’t an expert, but he thought one might call that a “meet-cute.” Not him, he would never call it that. Just someone _else_ might.

“Mhm, cry for help,” Eliot had said.

“Answered,” the man had replied.

It was, honestly, _quite_ the moment. Eliot was barely even tempted to cheapen it with any double entendre.

And then Eliot and Margo did that _thing_ they always did when meeting a man of unknown sexuality. Waited to see who the man’s eyes lingered on.

Eliot tried not to feel _too_ smug when the man barely even glanced at Margo.

“Mike,” he introduced.

Eliot reached his hand out, pausing for dramatic effect. “Eliot.”

And Mike grasped his hand and _lingered_ again.

Maybe he got a little caught up in it all. Certainly if Margo’s annoyance was any sign. The way she’d spoken with irritation, contempt, disbelief—

_What’s so special about him? Really? What makes him more interesting than the last ten?_

If Eliot was being honest, he didn’t _know_ what made Mike special. What made Mike different.

There was just something about him.

\---

_They told you not to travel, eh? Too unpredictable, too hard to control? Like telling eagle to fear heights._

Penny’s tattoo that was grounding him was gone, and he felt like he was free-falling.

Yeah, okay, maybe he would’ve chosen to actually claim his ability, get rid of the tattoo and stop fearing what he could do. Maybe he would’ve chosen to claim his own control for once in his life, rather than getting jerked around by the nearest authority figure.

That’s not what happened. Mayakovsky made the decision for him, and now he’d have to live with it.

Penny _would_ rather learn about his ability, would rather figure it out and own it and use it, than stifle it. Really, he’d wanted to know more; his mentor back at Brakebills was just useless and wildly unhelpful.

Mayakovsky, on the other hand, was insane and sadistic.

Whatever. Penny had met worse authority figures in his life.

The first place he ended up was his hometown in Florida.

It had been such a shock, he’d nearly fallen over.

There was the first house he’d lived in. There was the tree he’d crashed his friend’s bike into. There was the park where he and his friends had smoked cigarettes for the first time.

It wasn’t much, this place. But it was where Penny was from. It was a part of him.

Knowing who he was—or rather _what_ he was—he felt like this was the last place where he’d ever feel at home.

But it wasn’t home. Was it? It was just the space he’d existed in until he’d gotten tossed around from place to place, never finding steady ground.

And the only constant through all that had been the voice of the Beast.

Penny didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want to hang around this place.

He found it hard to leave.

\---

_In and out._

Mayakovsky was somewhere berating some other students.

And as Kady found out, Alice could turn them both _invisible._ Which was certainly a handy trick for their purposes.

Kady didn’t like stealing. She didn’t want to do it. It make her feel cheap and guilty. Stealing from the Physical Cottage had felt _awful._

On the other hand. Mayakovsky was a dick and he deserved it. Kady didn’t feel so bad _this_ time.

“You have to stay close to me,” Alice murmured.

Everyone’s voices still sounded strange and a little disjointed after all that time spent in silence. But Kady was glad to hear Alice’s voice. It was a comfort in this cold, barren place, to feel like there was someone who saw here, who would talk to her.

Mayakovsky had a tendency to carelessly leave his office door wide open. Geniuses can be _real_ stupid sometimes. Kady figured he probably had a superiority complex to the point that he wouldn’t even expect students to be brave enough to try.

But she and Alice were desperate. And desperation can be much, much stronger than cowardice.

Kady was kind of glad that they had to steal something for Alice, too. The petty stealing they’d done at Brakebills, part of Kady had felt bad for pulling Alice into it. But this time, it was for both of them. They both needed something.

_In and out._

They found what they were looking for. They made a clean escape.

Now for the hard part.


	12. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been three days and I'm still sad, guys.

Quentin felt relieved as he finally got to walk through the portal, back to Brakebills. He could see the Cottage in the distance, surrounded by the vivid shades of blue and green that almost hurt his eyes after being suffocated by all the harsh grays of Brakebills South.

That feeling of relief did not last long.

As Quentin got closer to the Cottage, as he saw who was outside, as he remembered a sequence of events that he hadn’t been present for, he felt his skin creeping with cold dread.

How could he have forgotten about _this?_

There was Eliot, smiling and laughing and leaning in to a barely familiar guy.

Quentin’s heart started pounding. He knew how this was going to go.

Desperately, urgently, he tried to imagine ways to prevent it. Of course, the best way would’ve been to stop Eliot from dating Mike in the first place. But Quentin had forgotten. He’d been at Brakebills South when that happened.

God, why couldn’t he have thought of this before?

He was about ready to start throwing and breaking things by the time he got close enough for Eliot to notice him.

“Q!” Eliot greeted, not pulling away from Mike. “You’re back!”

“Eliot, hey,” Quentin replied, unable to muster any enthusiasm. He glanced at Mike. _Shit._

Eliot smiled at him and Quentin’s heart hurt.

“Oh, so, this is my friend. Mike.” Eliot leaned in even closer, putting his arm around Mike. “He graduated a few years ago and lives in New York, and Margo tried to kill him with a djinn, but we fixed it.”

“Right,” Quentin said, regarding Mike warily. He seemed so innocuous. “Normal day at Brakebills.”

Eliot glanced back at Mike. “And this is Quentin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mike said, with a wide smile.

“Right,” Quentin said again, feeling tense.

An awkward silence followed, where Eliot and Mike exchanged a bemused glance. Quentin wanted to scream.

Eliot gestured to a tray with two drinks on it. “Would you like one? Mike here—” he shot Mike a good-natured glared—“would rather have beer, it turns out.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Quentin could feel how stilted his words were. He picked up one of the glasses and downed it in a couple sips.

Eliot laughed. _God, that laugh._ “I take it Brakebills South was not a bucket of fun?”

“Are you going to drink the other one?” Quentin asked.

Eliot raised his eyebrows. “Help yourself, little Q.”

Quentin downed the second one. He absently considered the consequences of just like, killing Mike before Eliot had to. Could he just get away with it right now? Probably not. Too many witnesses. And also Mike wasn't doing anything. Still. The temptation was, you know,  _there._

“Quentin!” Julia called out, as she half jogged to catch him.

Quentin put the glass down, tapping his thumb against it for a moment. He took a deep breath. Was it too late to go back to Brakebills South? Or back to New York, with no memory of magic? Or back to Timeline 40, even?

“Quentin, we _gotta_ talk,” she said once she got to him a little out of breath.

Quentin glanced at Eliot. Eliot was looking at Julia.

“Well, I should—” Quentin started.

“Right, of course,” Eliot replied airily, waving him off.

Quentin hesitated, but Eliot had already moved his focus back to Mike.

He sighed, turning back to Julia. _One thing at a time._

“Okay, let’s go,” he murmured, walking briskly toward the Cottage.

“Yeah, you can’t avoid me anymore,” Julia said.

“I wasn’t—okay, maybe I was. Just… Okay, fine, come on.” He led her up to his room in the Cottage, trying to sort through the flood of fears and emotions that hit him after seeing Eliot with Mike. His energy level had spiked in way it hadn’t for quite some time.

Granted, it was mostly anxiety. He’d been so numb for so long, the anxiety was overwhelming.

They got to his room and Julia nearly slammed the door behind them with impatience.

“Can we start with the obvious?” Julia looked like she’d been bursting. “From the _future_ of… another timeline?”

Quentin opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Well…” Where the _hell_ was he supposed to start? And also, what was Mike doing right now? Was he flirting with Eliot, meaninglessly toying with him? What parts of that whole earth-shatteringly awful situation had already been set in motion? What could Quentin still prevent?  

Julia took a breath. “Q, I don’t want to push you or anything, but I hope you understand that I truly, desperately need an explanation for this, because you can’t just drop that sci-fi bullshit on your nerdy friend and then _not fucking explain it.”_ She punctuated her point by lightly shoving his shoulder.

“I can see your point,” Quentin said slowly, trying to pull his focus back. It wasn’t working very well. His mind was split. “And I’m not… _not_ going to give you an explanation. There’s just so much backstory here that it would take like, multiple seasons of a TV show. And not even like, a normal TV show? An _especially_ convoluted one—I don’t even know where to—oh, wait, okay, so you know _Groundhog Day?_ Like, the movie, not the holiday, but you probably could’ve guessed based on context clues, I mean—”

“Quentin,” Julia interrupted, putting her hands together. “Yes. I have seen that movie. We watched it together. Multiple times. _On_ Groundhog Day.”

“Um, so right, it’s a, uh, a time loop. In the movie, obviously, but I mean, right now, we’re in one. This is Timeline 9. We’re like—okay, so there’s a monster, right? And we’re supposed to, I don’t know, defeat him, kill him, whatever. But we kept failing, so the time loop kept getting reset. I don’t actually know much about most of the timelines. I mean, I know a little about Timeline 23, actually? It’s weird, but like, you and I—in my timeline, I mean, which is Timeline 40—anyway, we had to like, contact the Alice from Timeline 23, which actually set off a whole bunch of—”

“ _Quentin,”_ Julia said. “I love you, but please, don’t go on your tangents right now. Don’t get me wrong, I love your tangents, they’re usually delightful, but _please_ focus. Slow down, go in order or something.”

“Right, sorry.” Quentin paused, taking a breath. Okay, he had to start _somewhere._ “Okay. Fillory is real.”

Julia stared at him, her face blank. “What?”

Quentin sighed, wanting so badly for this to be the childhood dream they’d always had. “Fillory. It’s real. I’ve been there. That’s… that’s where the Beast is from. The monster we have to stop before he, you know, kills us all.”

“Fillory… As in, _Fillory_ Fillory?”

“As in Fillory Fillory, yes.”

Julia let out a short, amazed laugh. “It’s… it’s real? You’re serious?”

Quentin felt a pang in his chest. She was so _excited._ He’d been that excited, too. He nodded.

Julia hesitated. “You don’t… you don’t seem like this is good news. If Fillory is real, why aren’t you nerding the hell out right now?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Julia’s face fell a little. “Jesus, Quentin. What happened in your timeline?”

Quentin almost laughed. “The answer to that is long.”

“No, I mean what happened to _you?”_

He hesitated. A million things went through his mind. “The answer to that is long, too.”

“Quentin—”

“Look, Julia, I’d really like to tell you everything, but I can’t really focus on it because—” He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath. He couldn’t think about anything but Eliot. “We have a _problem_.”

“What kind of problem?” Julia asked, crossing her arms. Quentin could’ve cried, the way she’d shifted into being ready to help so seamlessly.

Quentin looked at the door. “The kind that _I_ know how it’s going to turn out, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Julia paused. “What’s going to happen?”

“That guy outside, the one Eliot’s with, he’s not what he seems and… And Eliot’s going to get really hurt. I mean, I—I _remember._ ”

Julia glanced back at the door. “Well, what can we do?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Quentin said, his voice faltering.

“Oh, um. Okay. Okay.” Julia went over to him, a little awkwardly, putting a hand on his arm. “Let’s figure it out.”

“You don’t understand, I _need_ to… I need to make sure that—that this timeline, it doesn’t… That _Eliot_ doesn’t… If I can’t stop this, Jules, how am I supposed to stop every—everything else that happens to him? I mean… This is just the first thing, you know? The _first_ horrible _fucking_ thing that happened to him after I met him. If I can’t…” He was having trouble breathing. “If I can’t stop this, if I can’t _fucking fix_ it, if I can’t prevent it then—then—then, I’ll never… And he’ll just…”

“Quentin—”

“No, no, Julia, he’s—he was _trapped_ , he was—god, he was going to _die_ , and I couldn’t… There was nothing I could—and now, he’s—If I fail again, I won’t be able to…” Sentences weren’t coming out. The air wasn’t reaching his lungs. Everything was _falling apart._

Julia guided him to the bed, pulling him down so they were sitting close. She kept one hand on his arm, rubbing gently.

“Quentin, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she said soothingly. “Just focus on your breathing, alright? Count the books in the room.”

“Julia, I’m—I’m _not._ I’m not okay. I can’t—” His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. _Fuck._ He couldn’t get ahold of himself, he couldn’t calm down. He was going to drown.

“Okay, I hear you, I’m here,” Julia said. She took a breath. “Do you still have your anti-anxiety meds somewhere around here?”

Quentin laughed, exasperated and stressed. “You know what’s fucked up? I don’t. I don’t have any meds. Because when I—when I came to Brakebills, I thought all that was going to be over, so I…”

“You went off them,” she finished, letting out a long sigh. “Oh, Q.”

“Look, fuck, be—be disappointed in me later, okay? I can’t—” _Can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t handle this._

“I’m not disappointed, I’m sympathetic,” she said. She reached up, stroking Quentin’s hair.

Quentin curled in on himself, focusing as much as he could on the shaky, broken breaths. There was _so much._ So much he needed to do, so much he needed to fix and mend and prevent. But how in the _hell_ could he have forgotten about _this?_

_Eliot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m already failing you._

“Quentin, it’s an anxiety attack, it’ll pass,” Julia said patiently. She kept stroking his hair. “And when it does, we can get you some water, and we can talk about how to handle this, okay?”

He nodded briskly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to remember the first lines of each Fillory book. Sorting through neutral, safe memories. _Just find the words._

Slowly, slowly, he managed to steady his breathing. Not calm, nowhere close, but he'd slowed himself down.

His hands wouldn’t quite stop shaking, but the air felt like it was reaching his lungs again.

He clenched his jaw, irritated with himself that it was still _fucking Fillory_ that he turned to.

God, he needed a better coping mechanism. Fillory was never going to be the perfect haven he once thought it was. Not since it had taken so much from him.

\---

Quentin shifted on his feet. He was immensely stressed. Distracted. But he was here. He was here at Julia insistence. He was here _alone_ at her insistence, too.

_He called_ me, _Q. He’s worried. Just talk to him. You'll feel better, and he'll feel better. We can get to everything else afterwards._

“Hey, dad,” Quentin said. 

His dad smiled, full of both sadness and happiness. He wrapped his arms around Quentin, hugging tightly.

Quentin felt an unraveling in his chest. It just made him feel like such a _kid_ again. But it also made him feel so old, so distant from that kind of innocence.

Everything had gotten so complicated in Quentin’s life, so quickly, and it had just kept going. There was no pausing, no rest, no simplicity.

_Except the Mosaic._

Quentin shook the thought away. He hadn’t even _lived_ that; he’d just gotten a whirlwind of memories and feelings in an instant, reading an old letter that some version of him had written. That life may have been peaceful and simple, but Quentin didn’t get to _live_ it. And it was hard to think of the Mosaic, because the Mosaic made him think of Eliot, and Eliot made him think of… 

He followed his father into the living room, politely declining the offer of _tea, if I have any, but I don’t know if I do—coffee, would you want coffee?_

They sat down in separate chairs, and Quentin found he had a hard time looking his dad in the eye.

He’d missed the _funeral._ But the funeral hadn’t happened.

Honestly, fuck time travel.

His dad took a deep breath. “Curly Q, I didn’t want to bring this up when you came by with Julia, but… Son, I’m worried about you.”

Quentin looked down at the floor.

“I’ve been thinking about mistakes, things I would do differently.” His dad sighed, leaning back. “Quentin, are you happy?”

“Well, I—that’s a complicated question,” Quentin said. He found himself mumbling like when he was a teenager.

“But it shouldn’t be,” his dad replied. “Quentin, this new school you’re going to… Is it really where you want to be?”

“I don’t really… have a good answer for that,” Quentin replied, choosing his words as carefully as he could.

“Your prescriptions have been coming here, you know that?” He sighed, a long, heavy one that Quentin recognized from when he was a teenager first struggling with depression. It was his dad’s _I’m worried_ sigh, his _I’m trying_ sigh. “Why haven’t you been taking them?”

“I was going to talk to you about—about that,” Quentin said. His voice felt small. “Look, I’ve been, uh… Slipping. But I’m trying to get back on track, and I… I know I should go back on them.”

His dad smiled. “I’m relieved to hear you say that, kid. I’ve just been keeping them in the cupboard. Didn’t know what else to do with them, you know?”

“I’m trying, you know,” Quentin said.

“Trying?”

“To be happy.”

Back at the Cottage, Quentin looked at the medications in his hand. One for depression. One for anxiety. He’d been on and off them throughout high school. Side effects included: loss of appetite, drowsiness, dry mouth.

It had been years since he’d taken them, at this point.

Quentin shoved the bottles into his drawer. He’d take them, he would, he told himself. Just not right this second. He _had_ them, at least.

It was a step, anyway. But he could deal with all that right now. There was the Beast, and there was Eliot, and there was Mike, and there was Julia, and… 

\---

Quentin was lying on the floor of his room in the Cottage.

Julia, of course, still needed to go to class and study. She wasn’t going to give up a Brakebills education for anything, and Quentin would never ask her to.

It was, however, a little difficult to make himself _do things_ right now. Any time he tried to start, he’d realize how much there was, and he’d want to hide again. Everything felt so enormous and insurmountable. 

This was not a productive cycle.

Quentin didn’t know what Jane Chatwin was _thinking._

She should’ve pulled High King Margo back. High King Margo had her shit together. Goddess Julia could've worked, too. So why  _him?_

Someone burst into his room and he scrambled to his feet.

Eliot, looking disheveled, carrying an armful of vests. He sighed dramatically, collapsing onto Quentin’s bed. “Quentin. I need your assistance.”

Quentin sat back down on the floor, cross-legged. Yeah. He remembered this. He felt a twinge in his chest.

“This is a _disaster,_ I have nothing to wear,” Eliot said, gesturing to the pile of vests frantically.

“I mean…” Quentin started. He eyed the pile. “I feel like that’s an exaggeration.”

“I am _not_ emotionally prepared for Mike to see me in repeat outfits,” Eliot said, sifting through the vest.

Quentin paused. Now was his chance. Right? To tell Eliot something. To fix this.

“You really like him,” Quentin said softly.

Eliot shot him a look. “Well, you don’t have to _say_ it like that.” He turned back to his vest, frowning as he picked one up, put it down, picked it up again.

Quentin took a breath. “Eliot—”

“Which one?” Eliot said suddenly, holding two up.

“I—I don’t know,” Quentin stammered.

Eliot let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re _no_ help.”

_Come on, Coldwater. Say something. Anything._

Quentin opened his mouth, trying to get something—fucking _anything—_ to come out. “I—”

But he was frozen. He was frozen, and he knew how this was going to go, and he didn’t know what he could say that would stop it. Because Eliot was stubborn and difficult and prideful. Quentin searched for the words, but he was drawing a blank.

What was he supposed to _do?_

Eliot sighed again, gathering up his vests in his arms again. “I should’ve known better than to ask you. Margo is gone at the _exact_ wrong time.” He got up, dramatically heading for the door. “I have to do _everything_ myself around here.”

“Eliot, wait—” Quentin started weakly.

“Too late, Quentin,” Eliot said airily, with a slight wave of his hand. He walked swiftly out the room, leaving the door open.

Quentin collapsed back to the floor.

_Fuck._

He _had_ to try again. He froze, and he was useless. He needed to fix this.


	13. Something Crucial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep fluctuating between the denial and anger stages.  
> Anyway, some angst is coming up, and this is your warning.

It was remarkably difficult to catch Eliot alone. He’d been sleeping at Mike’s place in the city, so he was gone more than usual. And when he was here, Mike was usually with him. 

Finally, Quentin managed to catch Eliot when he came home by himself one evening.

Quentin practically jumped off the couch. “Eliot,” he greeted. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Eliot smiled wryly. “Are you propositioning me, Q? Because you know I’m spoken for.”

It was a light-hearted joke, but hurt to hear.

“Just… Please?” Quentin said. He heard the notes of desperation creeping into his voice. God, there was no way this was going to work. What was he _supposed to say?_ He hadn’t found the words yet. He just knew he had to try.

Eliot raised his eyebrows. “Sure, Q,” he replied, letting Quentin lead him to his room.

Quentin paced by the window for a moment, and Eliot hung back by the door like he was ready to run out at any notice.

“Quentin, are you going to tell me what this is all about? Or am I supposed to start guessing?”

Maybe this would be easier if he just came clean, told Eliot everything. Everything about the time loop, everything about Timeline 40. Maybe it would be better to just lay it all out there. Hope Eliot believed it.

But Quentin could hardly entertain the thought.

Because honestly, _how_ could he tell Eliot everything that happens? How could he do that to him? This was Eliot from _before._ How could Quentin put that on him?

Quentin, more than anything, wanted to protect Eliot from all the bullshit they ended up going through. He wanted to save Eliot all that pain. Kind, caring, _beautiful_ Eliot, who hid his feelings, who would get hurt and refuse to talk about it, who cared so deeply that he would just pretend he didn’t. Eliot, who deserved so much more, so much _better_ than everything he got.

He couldn’t save Eliot from being possessed in Timeline 40. Eliot had gotten possessed trying to protect _him_ from an eternity at Blackspire. Eliot had pulled himself out of possession for those few short moments, who knows how, just to tell Quentin he was still alive. And Quentin, no mattered how hard he tried, couldn’t find a way to get Eliot free. When he’d been pulled back here, Eliot had still been trapped, and they couldn’t find a way out, and it had been so, _so_ hopeless. Quentin had failed Eliot in Timeline 40, in ways that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for. 

And now this. _Eliot._ Quentin _had_ to make this timeline better for him. He had to.

Quentin could tell Penny the truth. He could tell Julia the truth. Hell, he could probably tell Alice and Margo and Kady the truth, if it came to it.

He could _not_ tell Eliot.

There was too much.

And if Quentin was being really honest, he wasn’t sure he could stomach trying to tell Eliot everything. It would just… It would hurt too much.

“It’s, um, it’s about Mike,” Quentin started weakly.

“Mhm. What about Mike?” Eliot asked, his voice _instantly_ getting colder.

 _Fuck._ Quentin should’ve known that Eliot would go on the defensive right away. What else could he expect? “Look, I—I know how this is going to sound, but—”

“I don’t think you _do_ know how it’s going to sound, Quentin.”

“El, it’s just that I don’t think—”

Eliot let out a humorless, exasperated laugh. He waved a hand theatrically. “First Margo, now _you_. Honestly.”

Quentin gave him a look. “I wouldn’t be saying anything if I didn’t feel strongly. I don’t trust him, El.”

“ _Trust_ him? You met him for thirty seconds,” Eliot shot back.

Quentin took a breath. He had a moment, images going through his head, memories of bickering over the Mosaic… “I’m _trying_ to tell you to be careful.”

“Right,” Eliot retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Listen, I can’t exactly… Explain it… Just—”

“So don’t explain it,” Eliot replied. “Just back off.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” Quentin tried to keep his voice as level as possible.

“Then maybe don’t give me unsolicited, insulting advice about my boyfriend?” Eliot’s tone had taken on that familiar condescension. “That would be where you could start.”

Quentin stifled a sigh. _Eliot, I love you, but you can be so frustrating._ “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, thank you ever so much for your concern. It’s _noted_.” Eliot gave him a withering glare. Then he huffed, opening the door.

“Eliot, wait—”

He turned back around sharply. “I don’t know what your deal is, Q. I truly don’t.”

Quentin took a few steps towards Eliot, closing as much distance as he could justify, his breath catching a little. He had to look up, their height difference more obvious from the closeness. “Look, El—”

“No, _stop_ it. I’ve already had to deal with Margo’s jealousy, and, honestly, I don’t know where _you_ come off—"

Eliot towered over Quentin, and he gestured sharply as he spoke.

Quentin couldn’t help it, after everything with the Monster, after every broken bone and every cut and every strangely tender touch. At Eliot’s sharp hand wave, he flinched.

Eliot immediately froze. “What was that?” he said, his voice smaller.

“Nothing,” Quentin said quickly, trying to recover himself. His voice shook a little. “Sorry, I—Sorry. Nothing.”

“That was _not_ nothing.” Eliot retreated, bringing his hands back slowly.

Quentin closed his eyes tightly. He breathed slowly, steadying himself. He opened his eyes, turning to face Eliot and shoving his shaking hands in his pockets. The light felt too bright in his room. The air felt too loud.

“Are you… alright?” Eliot asked slowly, studying Quentin’s face carefully. The mood had shifted, all of Eliot's condescending annoyance vanishing, replaced by hesitant concern.

Quentin forced a quick, tight smile. “I’m fine,” he said. He almost winced at how his voice broke.

“While that’s very convincing,” Eliot started gently, “I’m not sure you’re being entirely honest.”

“Well, you’ve always been so perceptive,” Quentin mumbled, breaking eye contact to look at his feet.

“Have I?” Eliot replied, his tone flat. “Q, I’m… Well, let’s just say that I’m familiar with that kind of involuntary reaction. And what causes it.”

“Please, just—don’t,” Quentin said, his words halting and forced.   

Eliot took a breath. He started to take a step forward before he seemed to think better of it.

“Quentin, I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing,” Eliot said slowly, sincerely. “Really. I do. But you have to know, Mike isn’t like that.”

Quentin looked back at him, and the feelings of hopelessness were staggering.

Eliot wasn’t going to listen to his vague suspicions. Why should he?

“Eliot, I—”

_Honestly, what choice did he have?_

Quentin wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just let this happen. If he just let Eliot get hurt like that. He couldn’t do it.

A sharp pain hit his chest. He didn’t want to do this. He really, _really_ didn’t.

“Eliot, listen. It’s not just that I don’t trust him. I… Look, I _know_ how this ends. I’ve already lived it.” He looked Eliot in the eyes, desperately, trying to convey the weight of what he was saying. “Please believe me. I’m serious. This doesn’t go well, and I _don’t want you to get hurt.”_

“Q, what are you talking about?” Eliot replied warily.

Quentin closed his eyes tightly, letting out a short, breathless laugh. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t know where to start. Just, I—Jesus, please, El, I _need_ you to believe me. Mike is not who you think he is.”

“Come on, Q, this isn’t funny.” Eliot’s voice was getting increasingly tense.

“Eliot—” Quentin replied, all his desperation seeping into his tone.

Eliot put a hand up. “You know what,” he said, avoiding eye contact. His tone was distant, a little detached. “Let’s just… pick this up later. I can’t do this with you right now.”

He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with quick purpose. Avoidance, one of Eliot’s favorite methods of dealing. Quentin knew it well.

Quentin stepped forward, about to go after him, when he froze, dread and realization washing over him.

Quentin had spent so much time trying to find a time to catch Eliot to talk to him, he’d lost track of other things. He’d missed some classes. He’d missed out on sleep. And he’d forgotten something crucial.

What night tonight was.

\---

Penny was happy to be able to be in a study group with only Julia.

Well, technically, Quentin was supposed to be here too, but the dude didn’t show up.

Penny figured he could cut Quentin some slack. Partially because he knew that Quentin had, well, a _lot_ going on. To say the least. And partially because it _did_ mean he got to spend some time alone with Julia.

His crush had gotten just a _little_ out of hand, considering they hadn’t gone on an actual date or anything.

She was just so smart, and beautiful, and Penny liked being around her.

She made the world a little brighter. Her wit, her enthusiasm, her curiosity. Penny hadn’t tried asking her out since he’d bought her coffee. He had actually gotten a little too nervous to ask her out, not that he’d _ever_ admit it.

It was getting to know her more that had been the problem. When she had just been the pretty girl from class, the stakes weren’t so high. But now that Penny knew how amazing she was…

Well. He was pretty okay with just being able to be her study partner.

“The invocation isn’t working,” Julia said, frowning. She walked in a slow circle around the plant.

“Well, neither of us is a Nature student,” Penny replied.

“Still, it should’ve worked.” She stared at the plant, tapping a pen against her bottom lip.

Penny tried not to stare, but it was hard. Her hair was falling in her face, and he just wanted to brush it back behind her ear.

God, it was getting so fucking corny. He needed to chill, because this was out of hand.

He noticed her tense up, staring past the plant. “Penny,” she hissed, under her breath.

He turned, following her gaze. A man was standing right at the edge of the clearing. Penny started to say something, to ask the man if he wanted anything—

“Penny, we need to get out of here right now,” Julia whispered quickly. “Quentin said—”

“Quentin?” Penny turned to Julia. Something clicked in his mind. He hadn’t seen Quentin around much lately, but… “Wait, do you—do you _know?”_

She looked uncertain for a moment, glancing between him and the man. She seemed like she was about to say something, when—

Penny got thrown, crashing into the potted plant and falling hard on his side. He groaned pushing himself up slowly. _What just happened?_

He felt disoriented from the impact, like he couldn’t quite see straight.

It only took a moment for him to fully gather his senses, because when he looked up, he saw the man heading for Julia with a knife.

He’d never had quite such good aim with traveling until that exactly moment. He got himself right in front of Julia, immediately launching himself at the man to try and wrestle the knife away.

He couldn’t say how long the fight lasted. Just that he punched the guy, they both wound up on the ground, and at some point, Penny’s vision went white with pain and he felt wetness on his stomach.

He felt himself slipping, a cloudy, heavy feeling washing over him alongside the sharp pain.

“Oh god, oh god, Penny, we gotta get you help,” Julia was saying with urgency. He felt her kneel beside him, touch his cheek. He could see her face, in a distant, blurry way.

He wanted to say something, a flirtatious comment, a tease about how it’s nice that she cares, a joke about how she could help him by getting a drink with him. Lighten the mood, since she seemed so worried. He wanted to reassure her that he was fine.

He didn’t say anything. He found he couldn’t.

\---

Julia paced, buzzing with nervous energy.

They said that Penny’s wound looked treatable. That it could’ve been much worse, and that they were going to do everything they could. That it looked promising.

She hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk to Quentin, since he’d been so focused on figuring out how to handle everything with Eliot, but she really needed to talk to him now.

He’d known that something was wrong with Mike. He’d know what to do here, too.

Or she hoped, at least.

God, there had been so much _blood._ And it might’ve been her, if Penny hadn’t—

He shouldn’t have done that. She’d had it _handled._ Okay, so she wasn’t _sure_ that her little knowledge of battle magic would’ve really worked out, but still. It was worth a _shot._ He didn’t have to take a knife for her. He could’ve died.

He still could die.

_Get ahold of yourself, Julia. He’s not going to die._

She was still pacing when Quentin rushed over to her.

“Oh my god, Jules,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly. “Are you okay?”

She unraveled a little bit, melting into the comfort of his hug. “Q, it all happened so fast…”

“I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I should’ve—I should’ve been there, I should’ve…”

She pulled back a little, looking at him. “But—but you can help now, right? They… they said Penny was treatable, that… that it would—”

“Julia, it was the Virgo Blade,” Quentin interjected. “We can fix this.”

She paused. “The _Virgo_ Blade?” Her anxiety dissipated for a moment, replaced by sheer confusion and disbelief.

But Quentin nodded, like this was a normal thing to say.

“Penny got stabbed. By a knife. From our favorite kid’s books. Because they're real.”

“Didn’t I tell you our lives only get weirder?”

A bubble of laughter escaped her. What kind of _absolute bullshit_ was going to happen in their lives?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

She took a breath, shaking her head. _Focus._ She didn’t have to worry about all of that. Just this. One thing at a time, one problem to solve, one task to complete. Julia could compartmentalize. She could analyze. Everything was going to be okay. Julia could make sure of it.

“So. When Jane gets stabbed with the Virgo Blade…” she said slowly. She’d read those books so many times. “Are we going to have to like, make a doll of Penny and burn it?”

“Well, no, actually—” Quentin started.

Julia lit up. “Right, of _course._ That makes total sense. It wasn’t because the doll _looked_ like her, it was because it was a gift from her mom. It was special to her. She loved that doll. It was the only thing she brought with her. So the blade took it as a replacement for her heart, because in a way, it really was.”

She took a breath, smiling. Nothing like solving a riddle and fixing a problem to brighten her mood. Everything was going to be _okay._

Quentin blinked. “You figured that out _way_ faster than I did.”

Julia reached up and ruffled his hair. “Oh, Q.”

He glanced towards the room where they were treating Penny’s wound.

“When he gets out, we can ask him what, uh… what to burn,” Quentin said. He took a breath, sitting down on one of the nearby chairs.

Julia sat in the chair next to him. She hesitated. “Well, do you… Do you remember what you used, you know, before?”

Quentin glanced at her. “Yeah, but, um. Things are… Well, different. He doesn’t _have_ the thing we used in my timeline.”

He looked towards the door, then out the window, then down at the floor. He began tapping his thumb against the arm of his chair, breathing a little shakily.

Julia studied his face, wondering. There was something…

“How’s Eliot?” she asked, keeping her voice soft.

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t—I don’t know. I guess, well, I guess he’s… probably heard by now. Um. Dean Fogg, I mean, and… So, um, they’re looking for Mike, they’ve probably… probably checked with—with Eliot. I never—I didn’t… I didn’t manage to—”

He cut himself off, running a trembling hand through his hair.

“Why don’t you go check on him?” she suggested gently.

Quentin didn’t look at her. “No, um—I mean, I should be here.”

“I can wait here until Penny wakes up,” she said.

“No, I should stay. You—”

“I’ll be fine, Q,” Julia said. She reached up and tucked some of his hair back. “Now that I know what we need to do, I’ll be fine. When he wakes up, I’ll ask him what his most prized possession is, then I can find you so we can do the ritual. Okay?”

Quentin glanced up at her, brow furrowed. “Are you sure? Because—”

“ _Yes,_ I’m sure,” she said, nudging his arm. She sighed, studying his face. He really did look older. This both was and wasn’t her Q. But she still knew him. “You haven’t stopped tapping your thumb. You should go check on Eliot. You know that you want to.”

“I can stay,” Quentin replied.

Julia shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do here right now. We know what we’re dealing with. We have a plan. When Penny wakes up, we’ll take care of it.” She squeezed his arm. “Go. I’ll be fine here.”

He leaned over, hugging her tightly. She breathed deeply, some tension leaving her shoulders.

Quentin pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders for a moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Julia nodded. “I know. _Go.”_

He got up, but he hesitated, lingering a moment with his hand on her shoulder. “Dean Fogg will be coming by. I need you to tell him something for me.”

She blinked. “Sure, Q.”

He looked at her, frowning. “Tell him not to call Jane. We don’t need her, and it’s not safe for her here.”

None of that meant anything to Julia, and she was burning with curiosity, but she just nodded. She could ask later. 

Quentin looked like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. He just squeezed her shoulder and hurried out of the room.


	14. Sentimental Value

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week, and I live here now.  
> Things get worse before they get better, guys. I'm sorry in advance.  
> Also: I'm not great at responding to all the comments, because I get overwhelmed and nervous and I'm not sure what to say, but just know that all of your comments mean so, so much to me. Thank you.

Quentin hadn’t said anything. He’d just come in, breathless like he’d been running. He looked at Eliot with a pained, knowing expression, his brown eyes full of regret, before sitting down next to him. The space between them felt charged, full of words unsaid.

 _Quentin._ Quentin had warned him.

The silence was heavy.

“You knew,” Eliot said, hearing his own voice and hating how small it was. “How did you know?”

Quentin took a long breath, like he was bracing himself for something. Eliot glanced at him, but he couldn’t make himself maintain eye contact, with that warm, sincere gaze. It was too much. He kept his eyes on the floor, hoping, hoping, that this was all a fucked up acid trip or a fever dream.

“I told you, El. I’ve lived this before.”

And just what in the absolute hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

Little Q was being so _cryptic._ Which was especially strange, given he seemed so earnest most of the time. In the time Eliot had known him, Quentin had been sweet and flustered and a little sad. Cute, in a too-kind-and-gentle-for-Eliot-to-pursue kind of way.

 _Cryptic_ or _secretive_ or _suspicious_ was not exactly in the wheelhouse.

“Take my silence as an invitation to elaborate, Q,” Eliot drawled, doing his best to seem like this wasn’t really freaking him out.

His boyfriend was… He didn’t know what. His friend was… Well, he _also_ didn’t know what.

Just Eliot’s luck, he supposed. That’s what he gets for trying to express some sincere feelings. That’s what he gets for attempting to let people in. And this all just _had_ to happen when Margo was out of town.

“I’m not from this timeline,” Quentin said.

Eliot just started laughing. _Please, for the love of fuck, let that be some kind of bizarre joke._ Eliot didn’t think he could take it if his life got even _more_ fucked.

Every step of the way to this school, to this life, had been a series of traumatic or otherwise unpleasant events, with every new revelation about why he _wasn’t normal._

Every new revelation of just how fucked up his life was, just how fucked up _he_ was, it always came wrapped in a nice little package of some horrific event.

Finding out he was telekinetic via manslaughter by bus? Check. Finding out he was queer and promptly being caught with a boy and punished for it? Check. Finding out he was admitted to this school, and having to abandon what little comfort he had, what few friends he knew, for this new, vast and terrifying world? Check.

This school was supposed to be _better._ Things were supposed to get _better_ from here.

The worst was supposed to be over.

But Quentin wasn’t laughing.  

Eliot’s slightly frantic laughing died. “You’re kidding,” he said flatly.

Quentin answered with a slight shake of his head.

Eliot took a long swig from his flask. He steeled himself.

“Alright! Lay it on me. What fresh hell is happening at this godforsaken place _now?”_ He tried to keep his voice as light and empty as he could, as though he wasn’t reeling from whatever the last few fucking hours had been.

“It’s sort of a lot to explain,” Quentin started reluctantly. He sighed. “Well, we’re, um. We’re in a time loop. I’m from a different version of, well, of this. The _future_ of a different version of this.”

Eliot held up a hand. He took another long drink. Fucking _nope._

“You know what,” he said. “I don’t think I want to know right now.”

Quentin nodded, looking a little relieved.

Eliot hesitated for a moment. _Implications, implications…_ “Just one thing. If you’re from a different version of _this…_ When you first got here, you… You already knew me?”

Quentin looked at him with searching eyes. There was so much meaning, so much weight, so much history. Eliot looked away. “Yes,” Quentin confirmed.

There was something else… Eliot drank again. He was _not_ going to ask any more.

He didn’t want to know. If he asked, he couldn’t take it back. Better to not know. Better to ignore it.

\---

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Julia said softly.

The room was bright and warm. Full of color. It felt like a strange choice for this kind of place. The only things that were truly recognizable as medical equipment were the beds. Everything else was magic.

Penny smiled wryly. “I know. Just seemed like fun, you know. I’ve never been stabbed with magic knife before.”

Julia almost laughed, but she stopped herself. “Rephrase: you _shouldn’t_ have done that.”

“Agree to disagree,” Penny said.

“You can’t just go around taking knives for people, Penny.” Julia shot him a look.

“I didn’t. I took a knife for _you_. It’s different.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. His flirtation was cute and fun and all, but this hardly seemed like the time for it. He was lying in a hospital bed, with a knife wound that was going to start growing fucking flowers soon, because of course it was.

“I’m not kidding, you know,” Penny said.

Julia looked at him. _Wait_.

Something had changed. His mouth didn’t have that slight, cocky smirk. His eyes weren’t hooded in that cool, distant way he had. There was no irony, no sarcasm, no mocking.

His eyes were opened wider than Julia had seen them, warm and sincere and dazzling. He wasn’t smiling, just gazing at her with almost naked adoration.

Julia was no stranger to being admired. She’d known when Quentin had a crush on her, and she’d known when James had started to like her. She was never oblivious to that kind of thing.

Somehow, she’d missed this, though. Maybe Penny had been covering too well. Maybe Julia had been distracted.

Either way, Julia was, for once in her life, caught off guard by someone else’s feelings for her.

Being flustered was not a state Julia was accustomed to.

She looked away, her face getting a little hot.

“Anyway, so Quentin said that it was the Virgo Blade, from the Fillory books,” she said quickly.

There was a beat of silence.

“So… you _do_ know?” Penny said slowly.

“About Quentin?” Julia filled in. “Yeah. I know.”

“Feels like he could’ve warned me about getting, you know, _stabbed,_ ” he said, sounding only slightly annoyed, really. Like being stabbed was just an inconvenience.

 “Well, this was all years ago for him,” Julia defended mildly. “I imagine it’s hard to keep track of everything that happened.” _Unless it has to do with Eliot,_ she didn’t add. She still wasn’t sure what _exactly_ to make of that. She had a few guesses.

“If me getting stabbed didn’t make that much of an impression, man, I don’t wanna fucking know what else we’ve got in store,” Penny said. He hissed in pain as he shifted a little.

Julia resisted the urge to reach forward, to fuss over him. She cleared her throat.

“To do the spell,” she said, “we’re going to have to burn something of yours. Whatever your most prized possession is. It has to function like a stand-in for your heart.”

He furrowed his brow. “Are you fucking serious?”

Julia nodded. “I mean, it’s a magic knife with a curse from a fantasy land. It’s got rules.”

“How am I even supposed to know that shit?” Penny said, with a frustrated, exasperated laugh.

“I don’t know,” Julia said. She tried to smile kindly and patiently, not revealing just how worried she was. “Just give it some thought, okay?”

Penny sighed, a long, thin sound.

He glanced toward the window, a pained look in his eye.

“I don’t have to think about,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I know what it is.”

There was a long pause.

“Well, it would help if you told me what it was,” Julia prompted lightly. “And where to find it.”

“Under some pictures in the top drawer of my desk,” he answered in a flat tone. “An old movie ticket stub.”

Julia stared at him for a moment. His words felt so _heavy_.

She started to walk towards the door, but she hesitated. She couldn’t stop herself from asking—“Why?”

Penny paused for so long that Julia didn’t think he was going to answer.

“It was the last time I saw my mom,” he said, barely audible.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

She nodded briskly, ducking out of the room as fast as she could. She wanted to ask more. She wanted to _know_ more. There was so much about Penny she didn’t understand yet. But she didn’t want to pry. Besides, there were more pressing things.

\---

Quentin hadn’t been surprised when Julia told him that Penny’s most precious possession was an old movie ticket he’d stuffed in a drawer.

It was _very_ similar to the candy bar wrapper from his timeline.

Quentin wondered about Penny’s hidden sentimentality, how he pretended to have such an aloof front but wound up revealing himself in moments like this.

Penny was never going to be as distant or detached as he wanted people to believe.

Quentin couldn’t help but think about Penny 40. And that candy bar wrapper. And how he’d tried to insist that he didn’t care that Kady had left. And how he’d sold his soul and gotten himself killed for her. And how now, he was _gone_ , in a way that way difficult to comprehend.

They hadn’t been friends. But Quentin owed Penny his life, several times over.

His mind drifted to Fillory, when Penny had lost his hands and they were trying to find the Winter’s Doe.

When they’d gotten stuck wandering in that forest, forgetting who they were and where they were going.

When they finally got out, and Quentin had to remember all over again that Alice had died. How it had really, truly nearly broken him. How Penny had talked him down, in his half-callous, half-compassionate _Penny_ way.

Quentin felt a jolt of sympathy when he saw Penny’s pained expression at the movie ticket. Quentin understood, on a fundamental level, the kind of hurt of losing small tokens of memories like this.

The rose vines had just begun to curl out of Penny abdomen. It was exactly as horrifying as Quentin remembered it.  

“Just burn the damn thing,” Penny muttered, turning away.

Quentin exchanged a look with Julia. She had her brow furrowed in secondhand sadness.

She took a deep breath as she went through the motions, her fingers flicking sharply, precisely. The ticket burned in seconds.

They all held their breaths for a few moments, until the vines began to retreat.

Penny let out a heavy sigh. “Well. Glad that’s not how I’m gonna fucking die.”

Julia laughed, light and relieved. “Yeah, that would’ve sucked.”

“My death better be way more badass,” Penny said.

“And not anytime soon,” Julia added.

Quentin glanced toward the door. “Well, I better…” _Go find Eliot._

Julia looked at him, growing more serious. “Right.”

He nodded briskly, heading for the door.

“Yo, Quentin, wait,” Penny called, leaning up. “You don’t have to do all this alone, you know. Let us help.”

Quentin hesitated. He looked from Penny to the door again. He didn’t really have time for this. “I mean, you’re not exactly in any shape to—”

Penny scoffed. “I didn’t mean right this fucking second, dumbass. I’m just saying. You wanna make a game plan? You wanna start figuring out what the hell we’re supposed to do? Quentin, don’t take this the wrong way, man, but you’re in over your head.”

Quentin clenched his jaw. “I know.”

“So let’s figure this shit out, then,” Penny said, gesturing. “Later. Julia and I both already know your deal. So we can sit down and talk it out and you can tell us everything.”

“He’s got a point,” Julia said. She shrugged lightly. “You shouldn’t have to keep track of everything.”

Penny gestured toward his abdomen. “And obviously, you can’t.”

He said it in a sardonic, joking tone, but the words stung.

“I _am_ sorry,” Quentin insisted quietly.

Penny shook his head. “No, man, I know. Forget it.”

Quentin sighed, nodding. “Later. We can all talk about this later.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Julia put in.

Quentin lingered for one last moment before heading out.

_Eliot._

\---

They’d found Mike.

Eliot kept going through the memories in his mind. Kept picturing them, kept trying to find what he missed. How could he have been so _stupid?_ How could he have let this happen?

What did he _miss?_

He closed his eyes, trying to regain control. Eliot Waugh did _not_ fall apart. He breezily drifted through relationships. He did _not_ get his heart broken. He was too smart for that.

Or at least, that was what Eliot had decided when he’d built the person he was.

Margo’s voice—

_What’s so special about him? Really? What makes him more interesting than the last ten?_

Eliot didn’t _know._ That was the worst part. What had it been about Mike, that had made him want to open up like that? That had made him want to share who he was, underneath it all? That had made him vulnerable, excited, hopeful?

Could he really have been so _naïve?_

He prided himself on being better than that, and the first sweet, handsome guy to show obvious _interest_ in him as a person, not in just his looks or his parties or his drinks or his flirtation…

God, he was so _stupid._ He really thought there was something… different.

_Eliot had maybe gone a tad overboard, but after all, that was on brand for him. The showmanship, the elaborate performance, the aesthetic. He liked things to be perfect. And he really, really wanted Mike to like it. To like the meal he’d cooked. To feel special._

_God, it was cheesy, but Eliot was honestly trying this time._

_“You don’t have to kill yourself for me,” Mike said._

_“It was no trouble,” Eliot replied sincerely. Because it wasn’t, not really._

_“I’m already deeply impressed, you know?”_

_Eliot couldn’t help but smile. It was what he wanted._

_“And I mean, I feel like I should be doing stuff like this for you, but I don’t really know how.” It was the self-deprecating laugh, the way Mike’s fingers had tapped nervously on the table, the way he’d avoided eye contact._

_It was endearing, this nervousness. “Don’t be silly.”_

_“I guess I’m just waiting for the part in all this where I start to bore you.” Mike had looked back up, making eye contact again._

_Eliot softened. Melted, really. “You don’t bore me. I don’t think you could bore me.”_

_“I don’t know about music and wine…” It was like Mike didn’t see what was interesting about him, what was beautiful. Like Mike thought that Eliot was looking for something he couldn’t be._

_“Um… Come here.” Eliot guided Mike to the couch. He sat at the edge, keeping his posture rigid. “Where do you think I come from?”_

Eliot cut the memory off. Opening his eyes. Ignoring the way they were stinging like tears were threatening to come.

He’d told Mike about where he was from. About his past. Where he’d grown up. Eliot didn’t _do_ that. He didn’t tell people that kind of thing.

So much of who he was a careful construction. An elaborate performance, like the dinner he’d prepared. Shiny and beautiful and misleading. Eliot did not want to known. He wanted to be seen only insofar as what he showed people.

He didn’t like acknowledging the depths.

And Mike… Mike had coaxed it out of him. With that self-deprecating laugh. That nervous tapping. The shy, uncertain smile. Eliot had _wanted_ to open up. He wanted to put himself on the line for once, try his hand at honesty, at sincerity.

_“Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life.”_

The sheer _amount_ that Eliot had laid out for Mike. The amount of himself that he’d offered, that he’d revealed. It was terrifying, and beautiful, and heartbreaking. And Mike…

_“Thank you.”_

_“For what?”_

_“Just you.”_

It was like Mike _saw_ him. Really saw him. And more, liked him. And accepted him.

_“Um, well. Here I am.”_

_“Yeah. Here you are.”_

But it was all a lie. Wasn’t it? None of it, no part of it was real.

They’d found him. They’d found Mike.

Presumably, they were detaining him for, you know, _stabbing someone with a knife._

Eliot needed to see him.

He _needed_ to.

Maybe it was a little masochistic. Maybe it was a little pathetic. But he had to go, he had to see it for himself.

As he walked, he felt like he was moving on autopilot. There was a numbness. He had no _idea_ how to react to all of this. He tried to channel his façade, but it wasn’t quite there.

“El, wait, hold up!”

Eliot slowed but didn’t stop.

Quentin was a little out of breath when he caught up. “Let me come in with you. Please.”

“I can take care of myself,” Eliot replied coldly.

“I never said you couldn’t,” Quentin said. He sighed. “Just—please.”

Eliot turned away, nonchalantly waving a hand. “Fine.”

He would never admit that he had felt a little relief at the idea that he didn’t have to face this alone. It made him feel small.

\---

Standing in front of Mike, chained to the floor of this dark, cold room, Eliot slightly regretted his decision to come here. But he needed to.

“All this stuff they’re saying I did,” Mike said, not making eye contact. “I don’t remember.”

Eliot saw how Mike looked away. How he felt distant. How different he seemed.

And it was like getting punched in the gut, like getting slapped in the face, like getting the door slammed in his face when he was kicked out as a teenager. Like every hurt, every rejection, every betrayal.

“You were blacked out,” Eliot said, realizing. _Realizing, realizing, realizing._ He shouldn’t have come. He closed his eyes, making sure he could still keep his voice steady. “Were you blacked out when we met?”

Mike finally looked up and met his eyes.

Eliot felt his stomach turn, felt the world tilt. _How_ was it even worse than he’d thought?

He took a step back, closing his eyes briefly again. “Do you… do you remember any of it?”

Mike still didn’t say anything.

Across the room, Quentin left his spot by the door.

Eliot saw the way Quentin kept his gaze on Mike as he crossed the room, his eyes full of unguarded distrust and hostility. He barely knew Quentin was _capable_ of that kind of expression. He was so soft and kind and anxious. Eliot hardly recognized him.

When Quentin reached Eliot, he put a gentle hand on his arm. His expression had shifted completely, back to the open warmth that Eliot knew.

“Come on, El,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s go.”

Part of Eliot wanted to stay, to hear even more about how their whole relationship meant nothing. How  _he_ meant nothing. How the Mike he knew might not even exist. How he had _slept_ with someone who didn’t remember it, and how he could never take that back.

Part of Eliot wanted to punish himself for ever believing this could’ve been something real.

He nodded slightly, allowing Quentin to pull him towards the door.

“Quentin—” Mike started to say, and Eliot’s heart hurt at the pleading in his tone.

Quentin turned sharply, positioning himself between Eliot and Mike, still guiding Eliot to the door. “Drop the act,” Quentin said quietly. There was a startling note of vitriol in his tone.

Eliot watched in horror as Mike’s face changed.

This wasn’t the man he’d cooked dinner for. This wasn’t the man he’d opened up to. This wasn’t even the man who’d just told him that he didn’t remember any of it.

His mouth twisted into a cold smirk. He straightened up, tilting his chin up in arrogance. He fixed his gaze on Quentin, as his eyes glinted in an unnatural blue.

“Ah, _there_ he is,” Mike said, his voice slipping into an inhuman echo, with some kind of English accent. “Quentin Coldwater. I knew there was something different about you this time. Had to come see it for myself, you understand.”

Quentin stiffened, not saying anything. His grip on Eliot’s arm tightened slightly.

“Jane _really_ is getting desperate, isn’t she?” Mike’s smirk grew.

Eliot felt like he was going to be sick.

“What you know will not save you,” Mike went on. That voice… It made Eliot's skin crawl. “Try and prevent it all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Quentin said, his voice soft and serious. Steadier than Eliot had heard it before. “I don’t accept it.”

“Then you’re a fool in every timeline.”

Quentin shot him a hard look. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” Mike countered.

Suddenly, inhumanly, he snapped himself out of the chains like it was nothing.

Instinctually, Eliot started forward, trying to get in front of Quentin. Quentin started to push him back, putting a hand on his chest.

Then Mike, with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed Eliot across the room.

Eliot fell hard, hitting his head against the stone of the wall. He wasn’t sure how long he blacked out.

As he came to, his vision spun, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing his hands against the floor.

_Get up._

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew he couldn’t let Quentin get hurt. Not after Eliot had been the one to insist on coming here. Not after Quentin had put himself between Eliot and Mike.

Not after Quentin had tried to tell him, had tried to warn him… Not after Quentin had _flinched_ like that, and Eliot could only imagine how he’d been hurt before.

He tried to push himself up, but he faltered and fell back to the floor. He heard commotion across the room, but he couldn’t focus enough to gauge what was happening. He could only picture the worst. Quentin, bleeding out on the stone floor… 

_God, fucking get up._

His vision spun some more. He tried to steady himself, pressing his palm flat against the wall.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away, almost hitting his head again.

“Sorry,” Quentin murmured, pulling his hand back quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you… are you okay?”

Eliot let out a short, empty laugh.

“Right, uh—right. Sorry, um, stupid question,” Quentin said. “I mean, are you, uh, are you hurt? Do you think you can stand?”

“I’m fine. Just give me a moment.” Eliot’s hand shook against the wall. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look. “Mike, is he…”

There was a long beat of silence. There was his answer.

“Oh, God,” Eliot said. He felt like he was going to throw up. He shifted, moving so he was leaning back against the wall, eyes still closed.

“I… I’m sorry,” Quentin said softly.

“Did you…”

Quentin seemed to hesitate. “I had to. He would’ve killed you, El.”

Eliot brought a hand up to his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to choke back a sob. He couldn't even decide what the worst part of this was. There was so much. 

They sat there for a few moments in silence, Eliot trying desperately to regain control and Quentin kneeling beside him, keeping a distance. The seconds were long. Eliot wanted to take back this whole day, this whole week, this whole month.

“Eliot, come on,” Quentin said softly after a while. He reached out, almost touching Eliot’s arm before he stopped. “We should get you checked out. Make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Eliot took a long, shaky breath. _Calm down. Get control._

It was all so humiliating, too. How he’d really believed that there was someone who might really like him, all of him. How he’d stupidly gotten his hopes up. How he’d come here just to torture himself over it. How he’d cried. How Quentin had been here to see the whole thing.

And it was all so _devastating._ Mike was gone. But how could you grieve someone who never really existed in the first place?

Quentin reached out slowly, touching Eliot’s knee lightly. “El. Let’s get you out of here. Okay?”

How was he supposed to face any of this?


	15. Haunted Houses & Lost Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm writing this, I'm rewatching the show, and I just keep getting like, real sad about it.   
> Anyway, thank you all so much for your kind comments. They warm my heart and give me motivation to continue.

Quentin’s hands didn’t feel like his own.

He didn’t know how it would feel. The sharp twist of Mike’s neck, he could _feel_ it in his fingers, as though it hadn’t been a spell, as though he’d snapped Mike’s neck with his bare hands.

And the echoes of _that_ were still in Quentin’s fingers.

He was _infinitely_ grateful that he’d done it, instead of Eliot.

Because, Jesus, Quentin was shaken and stressed and upset. He could feel himself distancing, numbing himself. It was one of the more horrific things Quentin had done, and he had helped the Monster hurt people over and over again.

But at _least_ it didn’t have to be Eliot. Eliot didn’t have to feel the twist of Mike’s neck in his fingers for the rest of his life.

Quentin could handle it, he could deal, as long as Eliot was okay.

He flexed his hands, trying to get them to feel normal again.

He wasn’t sure what to do, whether to try and be there for Eliot or give him some space. It was hard to say what—if anything—he could do to help.

Then again, there were other matters at hand. As Penny kept pointing out.

Quentin twirled a pen in between his still-tingling fingers. “So our next step,” he said, “is to get the button from Plover’s house.”

Julia tilted her head. “I’d expect you to be more excited about visiting Christopher Plover’s _actual_ house.”

Quentin damn near winced. Another thing he was going to have to ruin for her. “Yeah… Well. I’ve already been.” His tone was clipped, and Julia _definitely_ noticed.

She didn’t say anything about it, though.

“Okay, so what, I travel there, you two hop on a plane?” Penny said, leaning up from where he was stretched out on the floor.

Quentin stifled a sigh. He didn’t like this next step. Well, he didn’t like _any_ of the steps. “Margo and Eliot have a portal to their favorite pub. We need to ask to use it.”

Penny looked over at him expectantly. “Okay, man, you’re the only one that knows them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Quentin said. He tapped his pen against his desk. “I’ll talk to Eliot.”

“And what about when we get there?” Penny asked.

Julia perked up. “Can we do the tour? I mean, you know, since we’ll be there anyway.”

Quentin’s lips twitched up in a slight smile. “If you want to.”

Quentin suspected she would end up not wanting to.  

“It’s so not fair that you’ve already been,” she went on. “We were supposed to go _together.”_

“You two are such nerds,” Penny said, lying back down.

Julia grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at him.

“There’s something else, though,” Quentin said. He swallowed, feeling the gravity. Time to ruin the just-barely-lighthearted mood. Now _this_ part wasn’t fun. “The Beast’s, well, like, origin story, I guess.” _What a mild way of putting. Way to go, Q_.

“Wait, hold up.” Penny propped himself up on his arms. “Origin story?”

“The Beast is, uh, well… It’s Martin Chatwin.”

“Martin _Chatwin?”_ Julia echoed incredulously.

“Isn’t that one of the kids from the books?” Penny asked.

Quentin met Julia’s eyes, pained. “He, um… I mean, you know, Fillory locked him out. In the books. And, uh, well, he was trying to… trying to find a way back. After what…” He paused, glancing down and running a hand over his hair. “After what Plover did to him.”

An empty silence followed, making the whole room feel colder.

“What Plover did to him,” Julia repeated, her tone flat.

“Are you saying… what I think you’re saying?” Penny said slowly.

Quentin just nodded slightly.

“Oh, God,” Julia said. Her voice trembled, and she curled in on herself a little. “God, I can’t even…”

“Hold the fuck up,” Penny interjected. “You’re telling me that we’re supposed to save _Fillory_ from the traumatized kid that _it_ locked out?”

Quentin let out a short breath. “That about sums it up, yeah.” He scrubbed at his face. It was all so fucked up. “He’s not just a traumatized kid anymore though.”

“But he _was,”_ Penny replied.

Quentin clenched his jaw. What could he say? “Yeah.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Penny said, with a breathless laugh. “Are you sure we’re the good guys here?”

He used to be sure.

“I don’t know, man, but Martin _will_ kill us if we don’t stop him,” Quentin said.

Julia shook her head. “There’s gotta be something else we can do.”

“Like what?”

“Stop him from ever becoming the Beast?” she said. “Get him away from Plover?”

“It’s a little late for that,” Quentin replied.

She gestured widely at him. “ _You_ time traveled here. _You’re_ changing your past right now. It can’t be impossible.”

“Technically, _I_ didn’t do anything,” he said.

“But it’s gotta be worth trying, right? I mean, fuck, dude, we should at least try,” Penny insisted.

Quentin hesitated, uncertain. They hadn’t tried before, but then again, they hadn’t known to. It had been too late once they realized who the Beast really was.

“You wanted to make this timeline better than yours?” Penny said. “So _do_ it.”

Quentin took a breath. “Okay, we can talk about it. We'll see what we can do. But first, the button. We have to go to Plover’s house, and I have to talk to Eliot.”

Julia leaned back. “I changed my mind about the tour.”

\---

Alice didn’t want to let the hedge witches know how uncomfortable she was. She tried not to shift on her feet, tried to keep her chin up. _Confidence._ She needed to seem like she thought she belonged anywhere.

Kady, by comparison, was amazing. She exuded calm. Alice had no idea how she did it, but Kady always had an air of certainty, wrapped in an intimidating shield.

It was impressive.

“Well?” Kady said, crossing her arms.

Marina made a show of looking through what they brought. They’d offered a _lot._ What they’d stolen from Mayakovsky had been impressive, terrifying stuff.

Marina’s cool indifference wasn’t encouraging. Alice was hoping she’d seem a little more impressed.

“This is pretty good,” Marina said, in a tone that seemed to imply she could take it or leave it.

“So?” Kady prompted.

Marina glanced up, raising her eyebrows. “So, what? You had a decent haul this time. Try and keep it up.”

Her smug demeanor was infuriating.

“This should be enough to buy her out,” Alice blurted out, stepping forward. Kady put a hand on her arm, but Alice shook it off.

Marina looked almost amused. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Alice scoffed. “That is _not_ fair.”

Kady grabbed her arm. “Alice, let’s just go. We knew it was a long shot.”

Alice shook her off again. “No. No! Do you have _any_ idea how powerful what we gave you is?” She straightened up flicking her hair back. “This should _more_ than cover Kady’s mom’s debt.”

Marina narrowed her eyes, looking Alice up and down. “Do _you_ have any idea where you are? This ain’t Brakebills, sweetheart. You don’t get to demand things from us because of where you come from.”

Alice gritted her teeth. “I’m _not_ demanding things because of where I come from. We brought you a fair deal.”

“What you brought me is… _nice_ and all,” Marina replied, leaning forward. She’d managed to make the word _nice_ sound like an insult. “But we didn’t actually _have_ a deal.”

“So what do you want then? What will be enough?” Alice asked, an edge in her voice.

“Alice,” Kady said, warning.

Marina smirked. “You really wanna get your girl here free?”

“Tell us what it’ll take, and we’ll see what we can do,” Alice replied. She knew she was being bold. She knew that it wasn’t exactly a smart move. She didn’t care.

“What it’ll take,” Marina mused, leaning back in her chair. She seemed to performatively consider the concept. “I have an idea.”

“ _Alice_ ,” Kady hissed.

“Name it,” Alice said.

“There is something Brakbills took from me,” Marina said. Her face hardened, her eyes growing cold. “Get it back for me.”

\---

Quentin found Eliot stretched out on the couch by the bar, drink in hand.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, his voice heavy.

Eliot looked up. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, like he’d slept there.

“Hey yourself. Come to join the party?” He gestured vaguely, pulling himself up to a seated position.

Eliot’s eyes were glazed and distant, in a way that Quentin knew all too well.

But what could he do?  

Eliot was… Well, he was Eliot.

Quentin shifted on his feet awkwardly. He could worry about Eliot later. They’d have time to deal with everything. “I, um. Well, I need to borrow your portal to England.”

Eliot paused for a moment, furrowing his brow. “How did you—” He cut off, clenching his jaw. He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Right. You know everything.”

“Well, I mean, not—not everything,” Quentin mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“Fine,” Eliot said airily. Quentin glanced up at him, seeing his shields. “But I’m coming with.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Quentin replied. In fact, he knew very well that it wasn’t.

Eliot shot him a withering stare. “Margo is still out of town, and you’re asking to borrow our portal? I think I get to come. Where are we going?”

Quentin hesitated. “Are you sure you’re gonna be—”

“Q, so help me God, if you’re about to say _okay…”_

Quentin cut off, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “Well, I mean… are you?”

Eliot took a sip from his flask before flashing a sardonic smile. “Why, Quentin, I’m just _peachy_.”

Quentin was startled for a moment, his heart beating rapidly. _Calm down, that doesn’t mean anything to him. Not yet._

But still… _peaches and plums, motherfucker._ The last time he’d spoken to Eliot from his timeline.

He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking.

Eliot stood up, a little unsteady on his feet. “So. Where are we going?”

Quentin pursed his lips for a moment, considering how to talk Eliot out of coming. He drew a blank.

“Christopher Plover’s house,” he said.

“Sure, sure.” Eliot nodded thoughtfully. “Who’s that again?”

Quentin let out a sigh. “Seriously? Are you—Jesus. He’s the author of the Fillory books.”

“Right, of course,” he replied. “Well. Shall we?”

\---

Living in the Physical Cottage was a trip. Kady had no idea what kind of drama was going on with everyone else, but it seemed like each person had their own personal crisis to attend to at any given moment.

Except Todd, maybe. Todd seemed like he was actually focusing on classes, like a normal student.

But Eliot seemed drunker than usual. Margo was MIA. Quentin seemed to be rushing around with two students from other disciplines, including that guy he’d been with when they interrupted Kady and Alice’s mirror ritual (who had been stabbed? Apparently? Honestly, what the fuck was this school?).

Meanwhile, Kady and Alice had their own fucking problems.

“We start with getting Marina her memories back so you’re off the hook,” Alice insisted. “It’s what makes the most sense.”

“And what happens if we have to use one of the batteries to get into Fogg’s office? What happens if we get caught and kicked out and then we don’t have access to everything we need, and we _can’t_ bring your brother back?” Kady countered.

“It won’t come to that,” Alice replied.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Kady said. “I’m not going to let my issues ruin this for you.”

Alice scoffed. “We’re doing this together, Kady. It’s both of us here.”

Kady rolled her eyes. Alice was _difficult,_ she wasn’t _hearing_ it. “Look, I’ve been dealing with Marina for a while. I can deal with her a little while longer.”

Alice pursed her lips. “It’ll make everything easier if you don’t have to report to Marina every few days. And what if she asks for more in the meantime? Kady, come on. Don’t be stupid. We need you to be free of her in order to get to everything else.”

Kady put her hands up. “Fine,” she said, a little too sharply. The problem was that she didn’t feel like her problem was as pressing. Marina owned her, sure, but what was that compared to trying to save Alice’s brother? One was obviously more important than the other.

But sometimes, there was just no arguing with Alice.

“Good,” Alice said, her voice clipped. “Now all we have to do is find a way into Fogg’s office.”

Kady rolled her eyes. “Oh, is that all?”

Alice shot her a look. “No need for your pessimism.”

\---

The house loomed in front of them, dark and ominous and foreboding.

“Okay, so we can skip all the parts where we get terrorized by ghost children stuck reliving their horrific deaths,” Quentin said tiredly. “You’re welcome, by the way, because that part just, like, fucking sucked. I’m still going to have to go break in to Plover’s writing room to get… a distraction. For the evil murderer ghost of his sister. No one else has to come inside.”

“This is all such fucking bullshit,” Penny said, shaking his head.

“No kidding,” Quentin replied. “Anyway. Wait here for me. Get ready to dig up the body of a murdered kid.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Eliot muttered, drinking.

Quentin headed for the door. _Keep moving, just get through this._

He broke the camera with a spell and unlocked the door.

The house was the same as last time. Of course it was. It was just a different experience to walk in with reluctant determination, rather that nostalgic excitement.

It didn’t matter. He just had to get to Plover’s writing room, get the pictures, hide them around. Tell Plover’s sister to keep her out of their way.

All in all, it was a relatively easy step in the whole process.

But when Quentin got to the writing room, he stopped cold. He’d been numb, focused, so he didn’t expect to have a _reaction._

But there it was. The desk that had saved his life so many times.

He felt his throat tighten, his chest hurt.

It was never going to be the same. Not now that he knew everything. Everything about Plover. About Martin. About Ember and Umber and Fillory.

It was all such _bullshit._

But here the desk was, and Quentin found himself frozen, staring at it.

“I thought Fillory was going to be an escape,” he murmured to the empty desk. “I thought it was going to… I don’t know. Make me happy, I guess.”

He walked over slowly and pressed a hand against the wood. _Here it was_. He could’ve died at sixteen. He would’ve, probably. If he hadn’t had these books, these stupid fucking kids books, to make him believe in something _good._

The world was dark, and pointless, and scary, but Fillory had always been there for him. With all its magic. He and Julia, playing Jane and Martin and walking into every cupboard and clock and closet and cave they could find, pretending it was just a game, but always secretly hoping that it would lead to Fillory.

“It was nothing like I hoped. Nothing like I dreamed.” He sighed, dragging his fingers along the edge. “But I guess even if it had been everything I’d ever imagined, it still wouldn’t have made me happy. Right? Because it doesn’t work like that. I’ll always find my way back.”

He was delaying. He knew what he had to do, the blackmail that had worked last time. Get the pictures hidden in the dictionary. Hide them all over the house, where the tourists and fans would find them. Threaten to let the world know who and what Plover really was.

It had felt like the end of the world. When he’d learned.

Because, fuck, all those times in the hospital, all those times looking up the nearest buildings, all those notes… Through it all, he’d always had Fillory to fall back on, when nothing else worked. When nothing else worked, he could always reread the Fillory books and remember what it was like to be starry-eyed and hopeful.

But he didn’t have Fillory anymore. And he never would again, not in the way that had saved his life all those times.

And, God, it was devastating.

_Santa’s not real, kid. Grow up. You’re never getting a letter from Hogwarts, you’re never going to find that your real parents were wizards all along, you’re never going to go to Neverland, or Wonderland, or the place where the Wild Things live. It’s over._

_This is your life, and it’s complicated, and it’s boring, and it’s not what you wanted. There is no secret, magic life you were supposed to have. Nothing is waiting for you._

He took his hand off the desk. But he didn’t even have that excuse, did he? Because he did have magic. He’d been invited to Brakebills, he was a Magician. It was everything he wanted, and it wasn’t enough.

His broken brain wasn’t going to be fixed with magic. It was messier and harder than that.

Quentin had been depressed for as long as he could remember. There was never going to be the easy fix he’d dreamed of.

Fillory wasn’t going to save him. Quentin was going to have to do that himself.

He tapped a thumb lightly against the desk.

_Okay. Let’s get to work._

\---

Frankly, Alice was a little surprised to learn that Dean Fogg didn’t just live in his office full time. She sort of wondered where he lived, where he slept.

But in any case, it didn’t matter. All they needed was to know what time he left in the evenings. His office would be locked, and warded, and they might need the better part of the night to break in.

When it got close, Alice and Kady snuck into the building, protected by Alice’s light bending. The locks and wards for the building as a whole would go up when they were already inside, so it was only the office that they had to deal with.

It was difficult to keep so still and so quiet. She and Kady were standing against the wall, shoulders pressed together. Alice’s hands ached from holding the position to keep them from being seen.

Finally, Dean Fogg left his office for the night. Alice held her breath as they watched him leave the building.

“Okay,” Kady said. “Let’s go.”

The wards were insane. Layers upon layers. Alice stifled a sigh. They _had_ to get in there, and they had to do it before morning, but Jesus. Taking apart each layer of the wards was going to take hours.

Honestly, it seemed like overkill. But considering Alice was literally trying to break in and steal something, she couldn’t really say it was unnecessary.

“We’re going to have to use one of the batteries,” Alice decided.

“Alice, no,” Kady replied.

“We have enough.”

“That’s not the point.”

Alice huffed. “We don’t have time for this.” She pulled a battery from her pocket, a small, silver sphere.

“ _Alice.”_

“Look, if you have a better idea—”

“Sure, my _better_ idea was starting with your brother—”

“Okay, we’ve already been over this—”

“And I don’t think you _heard_ me—”

“I _did_ hear you, but—”

“Marina is _my_ problem—”

“Well, she’s _our_ problem now, whether you like it or not.” Alice sighed, turning to the door. “Look, we’re here now. And taking care of this is easier than, you know, bringing someone back to life, which apparently takes a thousand steps and a dragon, so it makes _sense_ to start here.”

Kady paused. “You’re scared to bring your brother back.”

It wasn’t a question.

Alice scoffed, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t.

“Is this because of what Quentin said?” Kady said, lowering her voice.

“I mean, Charlie’s been a niffin for years,” Alice replied quietly. “What does that even do to a person?”

She wished she could meet the girl that Quentin had brought back. Ask her what it did. How it had changed her. Whether she was glad she was human again.

To do that, though, she’d have to ask Quentin. She suspected he wouldn’t help.

“Look, if it had been you… What do you think Charlie would’ve done?” Kady asked.

Alice smiled a little, glancing at the ground. If she knew Charlie… “He would’ve done anything for me.”

“This isn’t exactly super charted territory,” Kady said. “Considering it seems like only one person has ever done it. But it’s worth trying. Isn’t it?”

Alice’s faith was still shaky. Who knew what it did to someone, to be consumed by magic and turned into a monster? How much of Charlie still even existed?

But Kady’s words helped. And her belief that it was worth trying was enough for Alice. For now, anyway.

Alice took a breath, straightening. “Yes. But either way, none of this changes that we’re here now and we need to use this battery or we won’t be able to get in before dawn.”

Kady seemed to stifle a sigh. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

 ---

Penny paced, getting antsy. “Is it just me or has he been gone too long?”

Julia sighed. “He said ten minutes. It’s been twenty.”

“It’s possible one of us should have gone with him,” Eliot said, taking a long sip from his flask. He held it out to Penny, offering. “You want some? It never empties.”

Despite his best judgement and Julia’s disapproving glance, Penny took a drink.

“Maybe someone should check on him,” Penny said, half to himself.

“I’ll go,” Julia and Eliot said simultaneously.

Penny looked at them both for a moment, furrowing his brow. “Nah, I’ll go. I’m the traveler.”

Before either one of them said anything, he traveled into the house.

He took a moment to sigh in exasperation, now that Julia and Eliot weren’t in front of him. The two of them, jumping at the chance to go check on Quentin, even when it was stupid or irresponsible. Of course.

Penny took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. Inside the house was even worse than outside—he could _feel_ how haunted it was.

He just had to figure out where Quentin would be. _Pick a direction and start wandering, I guess?_

_Upstairs,_ he decided. _Probably upstairs._

He heard a child’s laugh from the other room, and the sound of a music box. He heard shuffling and whispering.

He told himself to just ignore it, but if Penny was being honest, it was pretty fucking creepy and he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Martin! Hurry!” A girl ran past Penny, opening a closet door to leaves and wind and sunshine.

“Jane, wait! I’m coming with you!” Another kid ran by, the closet door slamming shut before he could get in.

Penny knew what this was. A time slip. Ghost movies, running on a loop. See shit like it was. These were the kids from those books. This was Martin getting locked out of Fillory.

“Why won’t you take me? Ember, Umber, why won’t you let me in anymore?” Martin asked the closet, in vain.

Penny clenched his jaw, furrowed his brow.

There was a lot Penny didn’t get about Fillory or fantasy or any of this crap with magic and monsters, but a kid being locked out of a safe escape? A kid being abandoned by something that was supposed to protect him? Now, _that,_ Penny understood.

Martin slid down the door. “I try to be good.”

An older man rounded the corner, holding papers and a pipe.

This must be Plover. Penny bristled.

“Martin, are you alright? Where’s Jane?”

“Fillory,” Martin replied, his eyes on the floor. “What’s _wrong_ with me?”

Plover tilted his head to the side, in a way that might look like sympathy if Penny didn’t know any better. “Nothing,” he said. “Some things just aren’t fair, hm? Come on, let’s have tea.”

Plover helped Martin back to his feet.

Penny knew this had already happened. He knew it would continue to happen. He knew that ghosts and phantom memories and the echoes of terrible things that had happened existed in places forever. You couldn’t undo the horrors.

He knew all this. He knew that no matter what he did, this same scene would play out tomorrow and the next day and the next day.

It didn’t matter. He also knew that he couldn’t do nothing.

He walked forward, stepping in front of Martin.

That was the thing about ghost loops, about time slips: you could still interact with them. That’s why they could be dangerous. They weren’t quite movies. They’d play out forever, but you could interfere while you were there.

Penny shoved the apparition of Christopher Plover back, hard.

“Excuse me,” Plover sputtered, stumbling. He looked startled and mildly offended.

“Man, fuck off,” Penny snapped. He punched Plover in the nose, sending him to the floor.

This scene would play out tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. But not tonight. Not while Penny was here.

“Kid,” he said to Martin, keeping an eye on where Plover was sprawled out on the floor. “Honestly, fuck Fillory for abandoning you.”

“Who are you?” Martin asked, voice small.

Before Penny could answer, the apparitions faded away into static.

_I’ll do everything I can, kid,_ Penny promised the air. _I swear._

The hallway got colder, and darker, and Penny braced himself for some haunted bullshit.

A terrifying woman manifested in front of him.

“What did I tell you children about disturbing Mister Plover?” she hissed at him.

Ah, yes, the murder-y sister. Penny took a step back, but she rushed at him.

“Penny!” Quentin’s voice called.

Penny and the Murder-y Sister both turned.

Quentin held up a photo, folded in half. “You know what this is?” he said, addressing the ghost.

She rushed towards him, snatching the photo from him and tearing it to shreds.

“Fine, rip it up,” Quentin said. Penny was almost impressed by the venom in his tone. “I’ve hidden them all over the house. I’m going to make sure everyone knows _exactly_ who Christopher Plover was.”

The apparition screeched before vanishing.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Penny said, heading for the stairs.

“Time to dig up a body,” Quentin said wearily, following.

\---

Even with the battery, it took about two hours for Kady and Alice to get through all the wards, eyes burning and hands aching by the end.

And they still needed to find the box of memories, but that was easier. The protections inside the office were far more lax.

Kady closed her eyes, going through the simple spell to sense what belonged to Marina. It felt like a string, tugging.

She opened her eyes again. Behind the bookcase. That seemed a _little_ clichéd, but whatever. Fucking magic school.

“Are we just going to know it when we see it?” Alice murmured.

There was really no need to be quiet, seeing as they were the only two people in the building. But Kady whispered back anyway.

“I hope so.”

She didn’t want this to take any longer than it already had. She didn’t want it to be any more complicated than it already was. She just wanted to find the damn thing, hand it over to Marina, and be done with it.

She moved her hands briskly, opening the secret room. A wave of cold air came out.

Kady exchanged a look with Alice, and they both walked towards it, stopping short of the threshold.

Kady almost laughed. She could see a box clearly marked with Marina’s name from where she stood.

_Magicians._ They had all these elaborate safeguards, and then failed at truly, truly simple things. Literally all they had to do was not label the boxes clearly, and Alice and Kady would’ve had a much harder time.

As it was, they didn’t even have to look around. They could just take the box and go.

Alice chuckled. “It can’t be that easy, right?”

Kady grinned. “We’re entitled to some luck every now and again,” she said.

_Finally,_ Kady thought to herself.

She could be free of Marina. She could actually follow through on her promise to help Alice with her brother. She could stop stealing, she could stop paying for her mother’s mistakes, she could start actually doing _good._ She could be one of the good guys instead of a reluctant lackey.

She clasped Alice’s hand briefly, hoping that it conveyed her gratitude in a way she couldn’t put into words.

\---

When they got back to the Physical Cottage, Quentin was completely drained. All things considered, it went pretty smoothly, but still. They’d had to dig up the body of a murdered kid in the haunted house of the author that hadn’t so much fallen from Quentin’s pedestal as utterly destroyed it.

Quentin practically fell on the couch next to Julia. Eliot leaned against the bar, and Penny was kneeling on the table in front of the button.

“Man, there is some serious shit coming off this thing,” Penny said, reaching a tentative hand forward.

“Don’t touch the button, Penny,” Quentin said.

Penny snorted. “Come on, man.”

“No, I’m serious,” Quentin insisted. “You vanish for like, weeks. And, well, the way I helped you get back last time… won’t, uh… won’t work. This time. Because of, uh, well, it’s hard to explain, I mean—”

Penny put his hands up. “Okay, alright, fine.”

“So what do we do with it?” Julia said, gingerly picking up the box.

“Nothing right this second,” Quentin said. “Now we figure out our next steps. Because things have changed, and my—well, my memories aren’t gonna help us much longer. Especially not…”

“Especially not if we’re trying to save the kid,” Penny filled in.

Quentin nodded. “I wouldn’t know where to start with that. I’m not sure it’s possible.”

“But you being here isn’t exactly possible either,” Julia said.

“To impossible things,” Eliot said, raising his flask slightly.


	16. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is kind of a transition chapter.  
> Such is life sometimes.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Quentin said. “Julia and I _did_ end up in Fillory in the past, trying to get the Leo Blade to kill the Beast. We saw Martin there. Kid Martin.”

“Right, okay,” Julia said. “So we get back there, and then what?”

Quentin spread his arms. “I don’t know. Far as I got. I honestly only sort of remember what happened. There was a lot going on.”

Julia pursed her lips in thought. “One problem is that we have to limit the changes to Earth’s timeline. Which means getting Martin out around the same time he disappears. But by then, Fillory had already locked him out, so he doesn’t really have anywhere to go…”

“Here’s an idea,” Penny said. “Ember and Umber are the assholes who locked Martin out, right? Why don’t we just fucking kill them in the past instead of the Beast in the present, and then let Martin stay?”

Quentin hesitated. “Killing Ember and Umber is… not a good idea…”

“Why the fuck not?” Penny said, grumbling a little. He’d been moodier than ever since Plover’s house. “They seem like shit gods anyway.”

“I’m not saying they aren’t,” Quentin said. In fact, he very strongly agreed with the sentiment. “I’m not even saying I, personally, have any issues with that plan. It’s just… Okay, in my timeline, I actually _did_ kill Ember. There were… consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” Julia asked.

“Magic got turned off,” Quentin replied.

“Magic got turned off?” Penny echoed. “What, like a fucking lightswitch?”

Quentin nodded. “The Old Gods. They turned it off.”

“The _Old Gods?”_

“So wait, you came from a timeline without magic, and you’re only mentioning this now?” Julia said, intrigued.

“Well,” Quentin started, hesitating. “We got magic back afterwards.”

“Okay, if you got it back, then why can’t we get rid of Ember and Umber so they can’t fuck with any more kids, and then get it back the way you did before?” Penny suggested. Quentin thought he seemed maybe a _little_ too enthusiastic about killing Ember and Umber. But then again, he also remembered what a dick Ember was and what a coward Umber was.  

“So, um, it was kind of, uh, a whole ordeal,” Quentin said. “Like, a pretty long and complex quest with a lot of moving parts. Including several people we don’t have currently involved here.” _Oh shit, Josh is in the Neitherlands—_ “Um. And—and, well, Penny, that quest is… It’s what wound up killing you.”

“Well, okay, I’m not a fan of that part,” Penny conceded.

“Last resort, maybe?” Julia offered. She turned to Penny. “And obviously, we’d try to stop you from dying this time.”

“Sure,” Quentin said. “In the meantime, we should think of something else.”

“You know what else we have to do?” Julia said leaning forward. “If we’re trying to find a way to let Kid Martin stay in Fillory, we have to make sure to stop Plover from ever going. You said he was trying to figure out how to stay there too, right?”

“I got an idea,” Penny said. “Go back to when Plover historically disappeared, and just kill him.”

“Taking death of the author a little literally, huh?” Quentin said.

Penny shrugged. “In your timeline, you were trying to kill a monster to save everyone. Well, we’re just after different kinds of monsters here.”

Quentin had to admit he had a point.

The Beast had been a monster, but he’d been human first. Not unlike Alice when she turned into a niffin. As for Plover, well, he’d started as a monster and never became anything else, as far as Quentin was concerned.

\---

Eliot wasn’t immensely interested in sobriety. It was easier to pass for a functional person when there was a party at the Cottage, and he could go on making cocktails for everyone like normal. Slightly harder when he was drinking from his endless flask semi-constantly during the day.

Quentin had tried to talk to him a couple times, but Eliot was nothing if not excellent at avoiding people he didn’t want to face and conversations he didn’t want to have.

Here was the thing: Quentin had told him enough.

Eliot did not want to know more about whatever time travel and alternate universe nonsense was going on. There was something deeply, deeply unsettling about how much Quentin seemed to know about him. Eliot would rather hide.

So he knew enough to understand that Quentin and Julia and Penny were anxious about something. He knew enough to understand that it had something to do with those Fillory books. He even knew enough to know that _he_ , somehow, by some cosmic joke, was involved.

And that was plenty. Eliot wasn’t interested in the rest of the story. It was beyond what he could handle right now.

He just wanted to drown in alcohol and flirt with first year boys until he forgot about Mike.

Mike… who hadn’t actually known him. Mike, who had been blacked out due to some fucked up possession for the entirety of their relationship. Mike, who had been the first person since Margo that Eliot really, truly opened up to.

Best to not think about it at all.

And so: alcohol and first year boys. And maybe some recreational drugs, if they were readily available. Eliot wasn’t picky.

Margo didn’t seem to notice a dramatic difference at first. Just a little more partying than usual, yeah?

Eliot suspected it took her about a week to catch on that something was really, truly wrong. And another week of passing concerned glances before she tried to tentatively bring it up with him. He avoided that, too.

Neither of them excelled at talking about emotional things. Margo knew that Eliot hated talking about where he was from; Eliot knew that Margo hated talking about her family. They had each other and they knew each other, and they knew that they could be perfectly happy if they kept their lives shallow enough.

Eliot never told Margo what happened to Mike. Margo never asked him.

From what Eliot understood, Quentin had told her all about it. And had possibly told her to keep an eye on him, if the two of them and their relatively frequent exchanged meaningful looks were any indication.

It didn’t matter. Eliot could stay drunk and high and not think about it.

Possibly not the greatest state to be in when Margo asked him to accompany her to confront her ex-boyfriend.

And, alright, maybe it was a little insensitive and thoughtless for Eliot to drink and partake in the substance abuse while Margo was passed out. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone straight towards whatever the nearest drug was in order to forget himself. It’s possible he should have been thinking of _her,_ it’s possible she was asking him to.

Then again, Eliot thought he had some pretty good excuses for wanting to medicate.

Margo, however, was less than pleased by him snorting coke with the golem.

“What are you doing?” Margo hissed, dragging him away.

“Nothing,” Eliot said, pulling his arm from her grasp.

Margo looked genuinely hurt and upset. Emotions she didn’t typically show. “I brought you to support me while I fight with my ex, not do lines with the golem.”

Eliot scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this is _how_ we support each other.” _Drugs, alcohol, games, never taking anything seriously…_

Margo paused, studying him. “Is there something you wanna say to me, Eliot?”

It was a dare. Here was her invitation. If Eliot really wanted someone to talk to about Mike, if he really wanted someone to _care,_ here was his opportunity to ask his best friend. Here was his opportunity to reject the safety of staying shallow.

But, as it was, Eliot blinked first.

“No. What is there to say?” he said, his words bordering on contempt. “I like your golem. Life is a unicorn shitting rainbows of candy.”

Margo nodded slightly, seeming to understand something that Eliot didn’t.

“I’ll, um. I’ll deal with the Margolem myself.” She looked him up and down. “Just go home, Eliot.”

She walked away, leaving him there to choke on his anger and self-hate.

\---

Going to class had felt kind of like a chore lately, a task that the three of them had to do in order to keep at this ridiculous bullshit they were doing. Penny, if he was being honest, felt like the school was more of a background setting than anything else at this point.

They had more important things.

But, well, continuing to go to class did still mean continuing to have mandatory study group sessions with Julia. And Quentin continued to never show up to those, so…

It was just Penny and Julia, hanging out in the evening shade under the trees on campus.

Penny enjoyed it, anyway.

“Penny, can I ask you something?” Julia said softly, closing her book.

The idea made Penny a little nervous. He almost wanted to say no. “Ask away.”

“Why do you _want_ to save Martin?” she said. “The Beast manipulated you and lied to you for your whole life.”

Penny hesitated. He thought of that kid he’d seen in the hallway, that kid who slid to floor after having the door slammed on him. That kid who asked what was wrong with him, why his safe haven wasn’t letting him in anymore. The kid whose only comfort in that moment had been the fucking _monster_ who’d hurt him in the first place.

And he thought of his time spent in foster homes. All the times his mother had come back and then left again, never giving him any kind of clue one way or the other. The times he’d stayed up at night, wondering why he wasn’t worth sticking around for, wondering what he’d done to deserve some of those fucking places they stuck him in. Wondering if he’d ever feel safe, if he’d ever feel at home. If he’d ever find a place where people really cared about him.

He thought of the Beast’s kind voice, and how it had guided him through some of those times. How he’d relied on that voice, how he trusted that voice, how he might’ve been lost without it.

How that voice had been a lie in so many ways, but had still saved his life.

“Martin isn’t the Beast,” he said slowly, quietly. “Not yet. That kid… He hasn’t done anything wrong. He just wanted to find some place safe.”

Julia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You’re a good person, you know that?”

Penny shook his head. “This is the bare fucking minimum, Jules.”

“No,” she said. “Not everyone in your position would be so generous. Not everyone would want to choose the harder, more complicated route like this.”

Penny met her eyes, feeling frustrated. “The people who wouldn’t are _wrong.”_

Julia tilted her head to the side, studying his face. “Maybe. That doesn’t mean you’re not being selfless here. It’s a difficult position you’re in. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to see it the way you do.”

Penny shook his head again. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me any credit for this.”

Julia didn’t reply. She just smiled at him, fondness in her eyes.

Penny looked away, uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him. “Look, it’s like this. That kid was failed by _every_ person who was supposed to protect him. If we’re trying to step in, it’s just because everyone around him was shitty. Not because we’re some kind of heroes.”

“Still. Doing what’s right in situations like this, it’s hard. You have to do it on purpose.”

“It’s not hard,” Penny replied. “It’s the only option.”

Julia didn’t say anything. She just reached over and put her hand over Penny’s for a fleeting moment. The back of his hand felt warm where her thumb had brushed it.

He glanced at her, wondering, but she had opened her book again and gone back to studying.

\---

Margo had told Quentin what happened. She was worried, but she was also upset and stressed and uncertain. It was a state that Quentin very rarely saw her in, but then again, this was not High King Margo. Not yet.

 _Can you just—can you talk to him?_ she’d said, frustrated. _He’s just—he’s not okay, and he doesn’t care. About anything. I’ll try again tomorrow, but I just can’t talk to him right now. He’s never been like this._

So Quentin had agreed, because of course he had. He knew how rarely Margo asked for anything. He knew how much she _hated_ asking for things.

And he remembered what Eliot had been like after Mike. Absent, and intoxicated, and sometimes pretty mean. He distinctly remembered Eliot saying some scathing words to Alice in particular.

It wasn’t hard to find Eliot. He was, predictably, near the bar.

He looked on edge.

“Hey, El,” Quentin said, keeping his tone light.

“Well, good evening,” Eliot replied. “Come to have a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Quentin said.

Eliot glanced up, eyes cold, with dark circles underneath. “I can’t _imagine_ why else you would be here.”

His tone was already getting harsher.

Quentin hesitated. “Listen, about Mike—” He cut off. What was he supposed to say?

Eliot clutched his glass, his knuckles turning white. “No, please, go ahead,” he spat, venom in his voice. “Say I told you so. Go ahead. You were right, weren’t you?”

Quentin almost flinched. His heart ached. What was the point of any of this, of magic, of being here, of being tasked with fixing this timeline, if he couldn’t even protect his friends from this kind of damage and pain? If he couldn’t protect _Eliot?_

“I would never,” he said softly.

Eliot laughed, a cruel, humorless sound. “Why not? It’s true. I was an _idiot,_ and _you_ knew better, so why don’t you just _fucking_ gloat about it?”

Quentin furrowed his brow, letting out a thin sigh. This was familiar. Too familiar. He knew what Eliot looked like when he was in pain. He knew, better than anyone, the kind of lashing out that Eliot was capable of.

“El, I didn’t want to be right. I don’t _care_ that I was right.” He paused, searching Eliot’s eyes desperately. “I care about _you_.”

Eliot scoffed, turning away abruptly. “You know, _Q,”_ he said, his voice so full of contempt he made the nickname sound like an insult, “you don’t even know me. I mean, _really,_ who do you think you are? We _barely_ know each other. Honestly, you were just some first-year-boy flavor-of-last-month who never got the fucking _hint_.”

The concept was so ludicrous that Quentin couldn’t even be hurt by it. He wanted to say, _you have no idea how well I know you._ He wanted to say, _you can’t tell me we don’t matter to each other._ He wanted to say, _I know you’re just trying to hurt me because you’re hurting._ He wanted to say, _there’s nothing you can say that will make me love you less._

“I bond fast,” Quentin said casually. “Time is an illusion.” The words meant nothing to Eliot, he knew, but _he_ remembered hearing them.

Eliot rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his drink.

Quentin sighed. “Look, El, if you want to take it out on me, that’s fine,” he said quietly. “I get it. I don’t mind. I can take it. But I _do_ know you. And I know you didn’t mean any of that.”

“You _don’t_ know me,” Eliot replied sharply. “That person you knew, the person _you’re_ talking about, you _have_ to know that he isn’t me.”

“I—okay, I know he’s not. But… El, I know this version of you, too, though,” Quentin said. “We’re _friends_. Here and now. I know you’re just lashing out. I know you’re trying to push me away. You can’t.”

Eliot poured another shot and scoffed. “Yes, tell my fortune, why don’t you.”

Quentin’s heart hurt as he studied Eliot’s face. Eliot was in pain, and really, there was nothing he could do about it. He could only stand by and wait. Quentin knew that Eliot was a difficult person to help. All you could really do was refuse to abandon him.

Kind, caring, beautiful Eliot. Who reached out to others when they were in pain, but refused to accept any help himself. Who could be cruel when he wanted to be. Who pushed people away. Who tried to hurt people before they could hurt him.

It was all a part of the messy, complicated, amazing person he was.

Quentin loved every version of Eliot. It was as simple as that.

“Eliot, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Eliot raised a glass. “Reassuring,” he said, condescension dripping.

“I know it hurts now,” Quentin said softly. “But it’s gonna be okay.”

“Mm, of course, because you already know the future,” Eliot said, taking a drink.

Quentin cracked a slight smile at that. “That’s not how I know. I know because I know _you,_ and you’re going to get through this.”

Eliot scoffed, shooting him a hard look. “The me from your timeline must have given you _quite_ the blowjob, for you to still be all starry-eyed,” he drawled, gesturing vaguely.

Quentin weighed the pros of cons of what he wanted to say.

He cleared his throat, trying to channel some of Eliot’s smooth confidence. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, the blowjobs were great and all,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Eliot coughed mid-sip.

Quentin couldn’t help but grin a little bit. The dark atmosphere had broken just a little. And anyway, there was never a lot of opportunity to fluster or surprise ever-cool Eliot Waugh.

“What a way to lighten the mood, Q,” Eliot said, still coughing. He brought a hand up to his mouth.

“You brought it up. Anyway, it was worth a shot,” Quentin replied. He took a few tentative steps forward, letting out a heavy breath. “Look, I just… You can talk to me. This is going to sound weird, but I actually have a pretty good idea of what you’re going through. It’s not… the same. But I do know a fair amount about what a monster possessing someone you care about feels like.”

Eliot glanced at Quentin, a skeptical look in his eye.

“Anyway, I’m here for you,” Quentin said with a quick smile. “Margo is, too, you know.”

There was a long beat of silence. Eliot looked down, swallowing. His anger receding, he seemed a lot more vulnerable. Sadder.

Quentin didn’t want to push him. He knew it wouldn’t help to try and drag Eliot’s feelings out of him, as much as he wanted to sometimes.

The silence grew, and Quentin sighed.

It seemed like the conversation was over. He started to retreat, unsure what else he could do.

“We really were something in your timeline. Weren’t we?” Eliot said quietly. “I was something to you.”

Quentin smiled a little. That was one way of putting it.

“El, you matter to me in any timeline,” he said.

“But it was more than that where you come from,” Eliot replied, not quite asking the question.

Quentin hesitated. He didn’t want to freak Eliot out with any talk of real feelings. He knew how _that_ went. But he didn’t want to lie either.

“It was complicated,” Quentin said slowly, wondering how in the world he could explain this in a way that made sense.

Eliot snorted. “Yeah. Complicated.” His voice was flat.

Quentin smiled, fondly, sadly. “I’d tell you more if I thought you really wanted to know.”

Eliot looked at him then, eyes a little wider, something like realization in his expression.

“You should get some rest. Maybe lay off all this for a bit,” Quentin said, gesturing towards the bar and the empty glasses. “The offer to talk stands. Whenever you’re ready. Goodnight, El.”

Eliot’s gaze followed Quentin as he left.


	17. Different Threads: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next section comes to you in parts.  
> The real challenge of these next few chapters was organization, so I hope it worked out okay and is comprehensible enough.   
> Anyway, one day, three stories.

They’d set up everything else. They’d gotten the ingredients for the spell, Alice had memorized the words, they’d set up a place to hold the niffin in Kady’s room. They had the batteries, they had the words, they had the time.

What they didn’t have was Charlie’s Shade.

If Kady was being honest, she was a little fuzzy on the concept of what that even was. She just knew that it was necessary, the it was in the Underworld, and that they needed to find a fucking dragon.

Because, apparently, dragons are a thing.

Alice slammed a book shut. “This is getting us nowhere,” she said.

“Honestly, how the fuck do you find a dragon?” Kady muttered, flipping through some decidedly unhelpful pages. She resisted the urge to throw the book, just barely. “I still can’t believe dragons are real.”

“Seriously? You can’t?” Alice looked bemused. “Magic, ghosts, niffins, sure, but not dragons?”

Kady shot her a look. “You gotta draw the line somewhere.”

“And you drew it at dragons?”

She closed the book, pushing it aside. “Maybe we should talk to Quentin again.”

Alice’s smile faded fast. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Do you know anyone else who could help?” Kady asked.

“We’re not asking Quentin,” Alice insisted.

Kady stifled a sigh. “He’s probably in the Cottage somewhere right now. We just have to go find him.”

Alice crossed her arms, lifting her chin stubbornly. “I am not asking him. We don’t need his help.”

“Okay, but we kinda do,” Kady replied.

Alice grabbed another book from the pile, flipping it open in front of her. “We’re doing fine on our own.”

“What happened to ‘this is getting us nowhere’?” Kady said.

Alice pressed her lips into a hard line.

“Tell you what,” Kady said. “I’ll go see if I can find him and talk to him. I'll be the one to ask. You can stay here.”

Alice sighed. “Fine,” she said. She waved a hand. “Go on.”

Kady chuckled, shaking her head. Alice’s stubbornness and pride could be cute, when they weren’t completely frustrating.

She headed out to search the Cottage, figuring that Quentin had to be around.

Kady glanced around the living room, finding Quentin quickly. He was sitting by the window, hunched over a book, chewing on his thumbnail. He looked focused, stressed.

Kady marched over to him. “Okay, how the fuck do we find a dragon?”

He jumped, closing the book quickly. “I—um. Hey, Kady.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He pushed back his hair nervously, breaking eye contact. “I never agreed to help,” he mumbled.

Kady crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Yeah, well. We can’t find shit on dragons, and you know what to do.”

Quentin closed his eyes, sighing. “You know I’m not that guy in the movie who just like, has all the answers, right? I’m not here to guide your—your quest, or whatever. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”

Kady scoffed frustrated. “You already did this, so you of all people should know what it’s like, to have someone you love turn into a monster and want to bring them back. How about you try and have, I don’t know, a little compassion for Alice? Her brother is gone, and we’re trying to bring him back, and you’re the _only_ one who can help us.”

Quentin’s gaze snapped up to hers, and Kady was a little startled by the intensity behind it.

“I _do_ understand,” he said, his voice steady. “And I do care.”

“Then prove it,” Kady said, softening her tone. “It’s her brother, Quentin.”

Quentin tightened his hands around his book, his gaze flitting around like he didn’t know what to look at.

\---

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Penny snapped. He didn’t have the patience for this kind of bullshit. “Dude, we don’t have time for this.”

“Look, it won’t take long,” Quentin said. “It’s just—um, so, I can’t really explain it. They asked for my help. It’s only a day.”

Julia sighed. “This has something to do with your timeline, doesn’t it?”

“No, uh… Okay, well—I mean, um, kind of,” Quentin stammered. He took a deep breath, running a hand over his hair. “I have to do this. They could get hurt.”

“Technically, they’re basically strangers,” Penny replied.

Quentin shot him a look.

“Fine, okay, I know it doesn’t really work like that,” Penny said, putting up his hands. He knew it wasn’t exactly _fair._ He couldn’t really grasp how Quentin might feel about people here, knowing entirely different versions of them. “I still think you should, I don’t know, fucking prioritize.”

“It’s _one day,_ Penny. One day. It’s not like we’ve made _that_ much progress with a solid plan anyway.”

“Fucking exactly,” Penny said. “We have shit to do.”

Julia put a hand on Penny's arm. “It’s fine, Q. Do what you need to do.” She looked at Penny. “We’ll keep working on a plan.”

“It’d be more helpful to have the person who can tell us which plans won’t work though,” Penny said pointedly. Quentin could be annoying, and he could be frustrating, but even Penny had to admit he was pretty vital to this whole fucking operation. He was the one who knew the most about what they were dealing with.

Quentin closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath. “One day, Penny.”

Penny sighed. “Fine.”

One day. They could handle one day. The Beast had been quiet, they’d made some steady progress trying to sort through what they could do. It was going okay.

It was just one day.

\---

Quentin was, to be honest, beyond sick of dragons. The novelty was very, very lost on him now. They were unpleasant and demanding and scary. Nowhere near as cool as all the fantasy he’d read and watched led him to believe.

Fucking dragons.

“Here? Really?” Alice said, looking around.

They were standing over the pothole where Julia and Quentin had found the dragon in his timeline.

He’d been sure to leave the button with Penny and Julia, lest the dragon want it to trade again. Hopefully, whatever Alice and Kady brought from Mayakovsky’s was going to be enough.

“Here goes,” Kady said, dropping the baby tooth she’d brought down into the hole.

There was a beat, a long pause, in which both Alice and Kady looked at Quentin with accusatory gazes.

“Give it a second,” he muttered.

The cover flew off dramatically.

“Down we go,” said Kady, looking into the abyss reluctantly.

The tunnel was dark and cold, and exactly as Quentin remembered it. He led the way, towards where the dragon had been when he’d come with Julia.

He stopped, as he got to where the cluster of collected objects began. “Someone else should talk,” he said under his breath.

“I can hear you anyway, human,” the dragon’s voice called.

“Um, hello,” Alice said hesitantly, stepping forward. “We, um. We seek passage to the Underworld.”

“You seek to die?” The dragon sounded almost amused.

“No,” Kady said quickly. “We want to be able to come back.”

“Hm. Very well,” the dragon replied. Now disappointed. Quentin tried not to roll his eyes. _Dragons._ “What are you offering?”

Alice and Kady exchanged a glance. Kady pulled some kind of charm out of her pocket. Quentin wasn’t sure what it was, but it was clearly Mayakovsky’s. He could tell just from the sheer amount of magic coming off of it.

“Will this work?” Kady asked.

“Interesting,” the dragon said. “Sufficient.”

Kady glanced at Alice again before putting the charm on the nearest table, among the rest of the clutter.

“Your bodies will stay here and your souls will travel,” the dragon explained, and Quentin felt some déjà vu. “You have twenty-four hours to return to the portal.”

“Okay,” Alice replied. “Noted.”

The dragon narrowed her eyes at Alice, before blowing smoke and sparks around the three of them.

_Here goes,_ Quentin thought, reluctantly.

\---

Eliot found Margo in her room, the door slightly ajar.

“Bambi?” He pushed the door, letting it swing open slowly.

She was stretched out on her bed, looking at him with pursed lips. “Hello, Eliot,” she said, her voice a little cold.

He sighed, taking a seat in her desk chair. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, having a hard time getting the words out.

She dropped the iciness almost instantaneously. They never could stay mad at each other.

“I know, baby,” she said, leaning up. She reached out, holding his hand.

“Can we, um… Can we really talk?” Eliot said.

“Like, for real talk?” she said, pulling herself up so she was sitting at the edge of her bed.

“For real talk,” Eliot replied, wincing a little. “I know, it’s awful.”

“I think we can manage,” Margo replied seriously.

“I am… not okay, Bambi,” Eliot forced out, keeping his eyes on the floor. God, this was excruciating.

Margo interlaced their fingers together, squeezing lightly. On the one hand, it reminded Eliot that there was, in fact, another person in the room to hear his honest feelings—which was, really, his worst nightmare. On the other hand, it had a grounding effect.

This was _Margo._ Yes, they tried their best to keep their lives shallow and vapid in order to not deal with the realities of their respective pasts. But their relationship itself had never been shallow, not since the first day they met and they clicked like they were meant to spend their lives together.

If there was anyone in the world who Eliot could talk to, anyone in the world who he could be honest with about his overwhelming pain, it was her.

“I opened up to Mike,” he said, softly, distantly. “I told him about _me._ It felt… different. With him. It wasn’t just a hook-up, Bambi, it wasn’t just a nothing relationship. I was never waiting for the exit sign with him.”

He finally glanced up to look at her, and Margo’s expression was more open and raw than ever. She looked like she was hurting in the same way he was, like she could feel every ounce of what he felt. And she, ever his Bambi, looked furious underneath it all. Like she was ready to kill whoever was responsible.

“It wasn’t even _real,_ Margo,” he said, and his voice cracked.

“It was,” she replied, quietly, urgently. “Your feelings, they were _real._ El, don’t let him take that away from you. Don’t let it be about him. Make it about _you._ You want to get to a place where you can open up, where you can be honest? You’ve _done_ it. Now find someone who fucking deserves it, and you can do it again.”

Eliot found it hard to maintain eye contact, glancing away, trying to gather himself. He didn’t know what to say. He swallowed hard, trying to will away the first prick of tears in the corner of his eye.

It wasn’t what he expected. What she was saying, he didn’t know how to comprehend it. Of course it had been that Mike was special. Of course it had been that Mike was different, that there had been something about _him_ that coaxed Eliot out of his façade. So when Mike wasn’t real, it felt like Eliot had lost any chance of being able to _have_ that kind of connection. Because it was _Mike,_ it was only ever Mike that Eliot had felt that way with.

And here was Margo, saying the chance wasn’t lost. Saying that Eliot could do it again, could _find_ it again. Saying that Eliot, himself, was capable of it. It was such a foreign idea, that it had been _him._

_You can do it again._

What an unfathomable idea.

His Bambi, ever surprising in her wisdom.

\---

“Look,” Julia was saying, “we just try to sort through what we have, and come up with some semblance of an order to things. Right? And when Q gets back, he can tell us if there’s anything he already knows about.”

They were walking through Brakebills, on their way to class, when Penny froze in his tracks, everything stilling, his skin getting colder.

_Hello, old friend. Been a while._

His throat began to close up, his hands got clammy.

“No,” he said, uselessly.

“Penny?” Julia said, stopping.

_I’m going to make this brief. Deliver yourself to me. Now, or when you’ve gone mad, it’s all the same to me. Your world is about to get very, very loud, and we both know you can’t shut me out, William._

Penny’s knees felt week. That voice, that voice that comforted him, targeting him now because why should he be able to trust anything, those noises, the ringing in his ear, his _name,_ his given name, not the name he picked for himself, the name he’d tried to leave behind—

He winced, a hand to his forehead. This couldn’t happen _now._ They shouldn’t be dealing with the Beast at all, that wasn’t the priority, that kid—

“Penny, talk to me, what’s going on?” Julia said, a gentle hand on his arm.

“We’ve gotta hurry,” he muttered. “The Beast is in my head again.”

“Shit,” she exhaled. She grabbed his wrist. “Okay, okay, we can deal with this.”

She started dragging him back towards the library, away from class.

“What?” he said, stumbling a little as she pulled him. “Fucking how?”

“Fucking meta-composition, that’s how,” Julia said, glancing back at him. “Staple some spells together, we can find something to block him out.”

“I don’t think—” Penny started.

Julia stopped, putting a hand on his chest. “Penny. I got this.”


	18. Different Threads: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been... a month and two days since I posted the first chapter of this. And it has been three weeks and two days since the show did That. And here we are.  
> (Sorry my updates have been slowing down a little--I get nervous. Bear with me.)

Stepping out of the elevator, Alice felt a little seasick. She wasn’t a fan of this entire concept. If the afterlife looked like a fucking hotel lobby, Alice felt like she could skip the whole idea and just go straight to the nothingness-and-darkness-forever sort of death.

“Welcome to the Underworld,” a man in a bellhop uniform (a fucking  _bellhop_ in the  _Underworld)_  greeted. “Right this way to check in.”

He guided the three of them to the front desk, where the receptionist looked up at them with a distinct Customer Service smile.

“Names, please?” he asked.

“Uh, Alice Quinn, Kady Orloff-Diaz, and Quentin Coldwater,” Alice replied automatically. It didn’t occur to her until after the names were out that they might not want to give out any information. She didn’t really know how being alive in the Underworld was supposed to work. Should they hide, or lie, maybe? How against the rules was this? Were there rules? Who enforced them? If they got caught, would they be sent back to the world of the living or would they be trapped there?

She might’ve been overthinking a little too much. She glanced at Quentin, hoping she could gauge  _something_ from his expression. But he was frustratingly opaque, looking more resigned than anything else.

The receptionist frowned, looking confused. Alice’s heart beat faster.

“I’m sorry, there seems to be a complication,” he said politely.

“If it’s the multiple deaths thing—” Quentin started.

Alice turned sharply, staring at him fully. Kady touched her arm, seeming to have a similar reaction.

“Yes, that’s it,” the receptionist confirmed, which made it worse. “You all seem to have already died. Multiple times. This may take a while, it really messes with our systems.”

“Sure,” Quentin said. “Not a problem. Can we wander while we wait?”

“Of course, feel free,” the receptionist said, gesturing with a smile. “You are going to be here a while, after all.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said.

He turned sharply, walking with purpose.

Alice exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Kady. Kady grabbed her hand for a moment, pulling her along to follow Quentin before letting go.

“What was that?” Kady asked when they caught up.

“It’s not important,” Quentin replied.

“You _know_ something,” Alice said. Her tone was a little more accusatory than she’d intended.

Quentin let out a short sigh. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “Not really. I don’t know anything. Ever. What was that thing that one philosopher guy said? All I know is that I know nothing or something? Man, what was that guy’s name? I should know that, I was going to study philosophy. Anyway, um, yeah, that. What he said.”

“We get that saying from Plato, but he was actually quoting Socrates, so you could attribute the quote to either one of them,” Alice replied. She frowned, frustrated. “Don’t—don’t change the subject. What did you mean, _multiple deaths?”_

“It’s kind of… a whole thing.” Quentin hesitated for a moment. “This way.”

“Are you going to explain this or not?” Kady asked as they followed him.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” he replied.

Alice studied his face. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes were narrowed, the way his lip twitched. He was afraid of something. He really didn’t want to tell them what he knew.

“Really? Because it seems pretty damn important to me,” Kady said.

“Well, it’s not _pressing_ ,” Quentin replied, his tone getting sharper. “We’re in the Underworld, we’re on a time limit, we need to focus.”

“This isn’t over,” Alice said. “We're not done talking about this.”

Quentin didn’t say anything. He just started walking a little faster.

\---

The conversation, eventually, had to turn to the other matters that Eliot was avoiding. Namely, a certain wide-eyed boy and the fact that reality itself felt like it was warping. Eliot wasn’t sure how much _anyone_ could help with that particular conflict in his life.

He couldn’t exactly Google this one.

“So you know Quentin,” Eliot started slowly.

Margo raised an eyebrow. “Yes, we’ve met.”

“Does something seem… off about him to you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking confused. “I mean, he’s neurotic and nerdy, but that’s not new. Just your type. I guess he’s _different_ , he’s stuck around pretty long for one of your first-year boys.”

Eliot pressed his lips together, frustrated. Not sure how to phrase this in a way that didn’t sound completely insane. Because it _was_ completely insane, but he didn’t have enough context to explain why.

Maybe he should have asked more questions about whatever other world Quentin is from.

Nope. Not worth it. 

Another day, another time, Eliot might think it was kind of romantic, a little fictional, to meet a cute boy from another world, another _reality,_ in which he clearly had some kind of _feelings_ for you. It seemed like a story he’d been told. In theory, it was… nice. Dreamlike. An intriguing fantasy.

The fact that it was _happening_ was, frankly, a little stressful. Less storybook, more carnival funhouse.

“Yes, he’s lasted a while, hasn’t he?” Eliot replied, stifling a sigh. “But, listen, beyond that… Do you find that there’s something strange about him?”

“Sure, he's fucking weird, but…” She paused studying his face. “What are you _getting_ at, El?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Eliot replied. _Oh, yes, he’s told me he’s from an alternate reality, and he knew about Mike before it happened, and he looks at me sometimes like he knows parts of me that I’ve never revealed to anyone, parts of me I might not even know, and I’m just wondering if I should, I don’t know, speak to him about this or change my name and flee the state?_

“Try me,” Margo said, tilting her head.

“No, I really, truly, genuinely don’t know how to explain it,” Eliot replied. He took a breath. “He told me he’s from another timeline.”

Margo furrowed her brow. “What is that, some kind of metaphor?”

Eliot shook his head.

“So… he’s batshit crazy?” Margo said slowly.

“That’s the thing. I don’t think he is.”

“Oh, come the fuck on.”

Eliot put his hands up. “I don’t know. I don’t _know.”_

“Well, okay, he never struck me as _that_ kind of weird,” Margo said.

“Because no one is _ever_ that brand of weird, Bambi,” Eliot said, a little desperately.

She looked at him, narrowed her eyes a little. “Okay, I hate to admit it, but I think this one is beyond us,” she said. “We should talk to Dean Fogg.”

\---

In the library, the ringing in Penny’s ears was only getting worse. The silence seemed to amplify it. The small noises, the shuffling pages, the coughs from other students, they grated at him. He could just about kill someone. 

They’d been at this for hours, both of them searching through books. Mostly Julia, because honestly, Penny wasn’t sure what they were looking for and he _couldn’t fucking focus._

The ringing in his ears—

He winced, pressing his fingers to his temple and hunching over the table.

Julia reached out and touched his shoulder lightly. “Hang on, I think I’m getting somewhere.”

“You know, I’ve got drugs that can silence the voices,” Penny said. “Could probably get them to work for this, too.”

Julia shook her head. “That’s a temporary fix. Not to mention dangerous. Just trust me, okay?”

“You’re making shit up as you go,” Penny replied, not particularly kindly. He was mad at himself almost immediately. It wasn’t _her_ fault he was getting ready to tear his hair out. She was only trying to help; he shouldn't be a dick to her. 

But Julia grinned. “Making shit up as I go is my discipline,” she said brightly. “ _Meta-composition.”_

Penny waved a hand. “Alright, fine. I trust you.”

He made it sound as casual as possible. As though it wasn’t an incredibly difficult thing for him to say or feel or express. Luckily for him, she seemed to gloss over it. Presumably because she’d had trust in her life before.

He tried to keep his focus. Remember what was important.

The ringing in his ears—

He could ignore it. He could block it out. He could _focus on what was important._

What was important was getting through this whole fucking thing. What was important was getting that kid out of there. What was important was making the fantasy land of Fillory somewhere safe, like it should’ve been to begin with.

Penny didn’t know much about fantasy, or other worlds, or fiction. He didn’t know anything about the Fillory books or the gods that lived there. He just knew what it was like to be failed by people who are supposed to protect you. So he _knew_ what was important here.

And the Beast—

The Beast wasn’t _real._ Or, more like, he didn’t have to be. This never had to happen. None of it.

It was preventable. It was preventable, so someone had to be responsible for preventing it.

God, the _fucking_ ringing in his ears. _Focus._

What he wouldn’t do for that goddamn medication right about now. That cocktail of prescription and non-prescription drugs that he curated to tune out the voices. What he wouldn’t do for some peace and fucking quiet.

“Got it!” Julia said, a little too loud.

Penny scrubbed at his face. “What?” he said, tired.

“I _think_ I have something that could work—it’s kind of a mixture of ward spells, kind of a repelling spell.”

“You _think?_ I don’t know, Jules, if you’re going to cast something _on_ me, I’d like it if you were pretty fucking sure.”

She shot him a good-natured glare. “Okay, I am. I’m confident this can work. This is what I’m _good_ at.” She flipped through the book a little, marking a couple pages. “Well, I can’t _guarantee_ anything, but let’s say I’m, I don’t know, eighty-five percent sure?”

Another sharp pain hit Penny’s head, that _fucking_ ringing getting more high pitched. Desperate times. “Good enough for me.”

\---

It took longer to get to Elysium than Quentin remembered, though that may have had more to do with the company. When he’d come before, it had been him and Julia.

Not him with Alice and Kady, who were staring at him intently. Uncomfortably.

Absently, he thought about creating some kind of handout, explaining the basics of what the hell was happening. He was honestly pretty tired of going through it all. And telling Alice and Kady in particular, knowing what he knew about them, didn’t seem like it would be fun. Questions and disbelief all around.

_Yeah, by the way, we’re in a time loop, alternate timelines are real, I’m from the future, et cetera, et cetera. Any questions, concerns?_

“Here we are,” he said, breaking the tense silence as they walked up to the door.

He walked in and was reminded immediately of how both sweet and sad this place was. The Shades, all looking like children, all performing small acts of magic.

“What are they doing?” Kady asked quietly.

“Minor miracles,” Quentin replied. “Come on.”

He walked over to one, who was sitting at a table making a flower bloom.

“Hey, sorry, excuse me,” he said. “We’re looking for someone. One Shade in particular.”

The kid looked up with wide eyes. “There are a lot of us here,” he said.

Quentin looked at Alice, gesturing her forward.

“Oh, um, right,” she said, her voice shaking just a little. “His, um, his name is Charlie? He would have been here a while. He’s… blond? Blue-eyed?”

“Anything else?” the Shade said.

“Personality traits or something?” Quentin prompted gently.

Alice nodded. “Right, yeah, uh… He’s… Well, he’s really kind. Selfless. He, um, he liked to make things. Little trinkets, to give to people. Glass horses…”

“Glass horses?” the Shade repeated. “Yeah, there’s someone who makes those. He likes to send them to lonely little girls for them to find. He’s usually upstairs, by the big window.”

“Thank—thank you,” Alice said, shakily.

Kady put a hand on Alice’s shoulder, guiding her away.

Alice looked so wide-eyed and shell-shocked that Quentin almost reached out to her. Before remembering. They aren’t even really friends here.

He swallowed the thought, pushing it away. He couldn’t handle that right now. He didn’t have the time, or the energy, or the emotional stability for it. He’d nearly killed himself trying to save Alice in his timeline, trying to bring her back, and here… She didn’t even really know him.

They headed for the stairs in silence, aware of the clock.


	19. Different Threads: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals week, guys. And here I am.  
> Sidenote, someone really has to call me out for the fact that I have three pairings tagged here and they have all like, barely touched hands.

In Dean Fogg’s office, Eliot just honestly wasn’t sure where to begin.

He was only here because, well, he was desperate, and Dean Fogg seemed to have answers in desperate times. Well, and because Margo had dragged him to the office and shoved him in, saying he better report back everything Fogg tells him.

“Is this about Mike?” Dean Fogg guessed, sounding uncharacteristically sympathetic. “Because, you know, there’s nothing anyone could have done.”

Eliot swallowed. He didn’t want to think about that. He had been trying really quite desperately to _not think about that._ Moving on to the next crisis and all.

“No,” he said, shoving it out of his mind again. Mike wasn’t real, none of their relationship itself was real, it was fiction, no need to care. He could sort through it all later. “It’s… Well, I guess it’s about Quentin. And timelines.”

Eliot had taken a shot, hoping the vague knowledge he already had would be enough to get something new.

It seemed he was right. Dean Fogg let out a long sigh, getting up and grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Eliot accepted his glass, ignoring Quentin’s voice saying _maybe you should lay off all this_  in the back of his mind _._ Honestly, why should he care? But he put his glass down after one small sip, not sure if he really wanted any more than that. Not sure if it was worth it.

“So you know, too,” Dean Fogg said heavily.

“Some,” Eliot said, and it sort of felt like a lie. It wasn’t, strictly speaking. He _did_ know some things. “I was hoping to hear about it in your words.”

“Were you now,” Fogg said, his tone flat.

“Please,” Eliot added.

Fogg sighed again, rubbing his temples. “We are in a time loop. I, regrettably, am aware of each one. This is the ninth. According to Quentin, there are forty, total.”

“Forty,” Eliot echoed. What in the _hell_ was going on. He realized it was essentially just what Quentin had told him, but hearing it a second time made it all the more real.

“Indeed,” Fogg confirmed. “The time loop gets reset once everything goes to shit again. The Beast from Fillory, the one who possessed Mike, comes for us all. You die, I die, we all die, all of this is for nothing.” He downed the rest of his glass. “The end.”

“So you’re aware of it,” Eliot said, glossing over the comment about Mike. _The Beast._ That sounded like something Eliot could think about later. Way, way later. “Quentin is too?”

“He knows about it, but he’s not exactly aware of it. Not quite,” Fogg said. “He is, well, from the future of a later timeline. Seems he has long since gotten past this endless loop, while I have to face another thirty.”

“I don’t know that I understand,” Eliot said slowly. He was, frankly, spinning. This was truly incomprehensible.

“What’s there to understand?” Dean Fogg said, with almost a touch of humor. “It is complete and utter nonsense. Bullshit. All of this, all of it, is an exercise in futility.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

“What can I say?” Dean Fogg said sardonically, spreading his hands. “Just trying to prepare to enjoy the absurdist comedy that has become of my life.”

Sensing this wasn’t going to get any more productive, Eliot excused himself to go report back to Margo.

He told her everything he could as they walked back to the Physical Cottage.

“Are you telling me that Fillory is real?” Margo said, her voice low, reverent.

Eliot glanced at her. “So it would appear.”

“I _loved_ those books,” she replied. Her eyes were wide, near childlike. It was interesting, seeing her like this. Like she’d gone back in time.

“I never read them,” Eliot said.

Margo slapped his arm. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry, Bambi, I didn’t have time to read for leisure, I had all that school reading I was ignoring.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you have to read them _now.”_

“Or,” Eliot said, taking her hand. “You could just explain the entire plot to me. We _are_ in a precarious situation, apparently. Limited time.”

“That’s cheating,” she replied.

“It’s the most reasonable solution and you know it, Bambi,” Eliot said. He smiled at her. “Besides, I do love when you tell me stories.”

\---

They got to a room with a big window, with a Shade sitting in front of it. Kady was about to ask Alice if that was him. When she turned to look at her, the question died in her mouth.

Alice’s eyes were wide, wider than Kady had ever seen them, with tears about to drip down from her eyelashes.

Kady reached down and squeezed Alice’s hand lightly.

Alice took a thin breath, and then started to slowly step forward.

Kady caught a glance of Quentin looking at Alice, like he might cry, too.

“Charlie…” Alice breathed.

The Shade turned, his little-kid face breaking out into a smile.

“Alice!” he called happily. He jumped up to his feet and ran over to hug her.

Kady watched, her heart warming a little. They could really _do_ this. They could bring Alice’s brother back. Watching Alice look so… So happy. So overcome. It really was something else. Kady wanted to see it more often.

She gave it a few minutes, not wanting to take this moment away from Alice. Quentin seemed to be roughly on the same page. They both stood on the far side of the room, letting Alice talk to her brother’s Shade, all smiles and laughter and tears.

But they didn’t have much time left, and they had to move.

Kady turned to Quentin. “Alright. So we just bring him with? What happens when we get up there, does he stay a little kid, or…?

Quentin’s eyes widened, paling like something was dawning on him. “Oh, shit,” he said.

From across the room, Alice heard. Her head snapped towards him. “What?”

“I—well, the, the—when I did this before…” Quentin stammered. His eyes flitted around nervously and he ran a hand through his hair.

Kady wasn’t feeling especially patient. “Spit it out, Coldwater.”

He glanced at her briefly. “I, um, the—the person who, who helped me… Well, so, um, see—she… We were able to—to bring up the Shade of the girl I brought back, because, um, my friend, she—she didn’t _have_ her, um, her Shade…”

“What are you saying?” Alice said sharply. She walked over briskly, tension in her face.

“I’m saying that I don’t think we can bring up more Shades than people,” Quentin replied.

“That would’ve been nice to know,” Kady snapped at him.

He shot her a look. “Listen, this—this wasn’t all that _recent_ for me, okay? I’m sorry, really, I _am._ I don’t remember everything perfectly, I’ve got a lot going on and honestly, if you’ll recall, I _wasn’t going to help you.”_

“Yes, thanks _so_ much for your help,” Kady retorted sarcastically. “Waiting until we’re _here_ and have to leave, you know, _really soon or we die.”_

“I didn’t forget about this on purpose,” Quentin said, his tone bordering on defensive. He took a breath, running another anxious hand through his hair. “So, um, look, I don’t know how we—”

“There’s another way,” Charlie’s Shade said, getting to his feet and following Alice over.

He reached up, gently touching the locket around Alice’s neck.

“I gave you this,” he said softly. “And you wear it every day. There’s magic in that.”

Kady felt a wave of recognition. She knew that kind of magic. She remembered, when she was a kid, some hedge witches talking about containing souls—how objects could be worth enough to carry someone’s soul. There was a spell to enchant those objects…

She took a step towards Alice. “You have to leave the picture behind.”

Alice glanced at her, eyes wide. “But I—” she started. She cut off, clenching her jaw. She opened the locket slowly.

Kady could see the picture inside, of Alice and Charlie as kids together.

She cleared her throat, turning to Quentin.

“Alright, I need your help with this spell,” she said. “And then we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Quentin nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

\---

Penny had never been to where the Knowledge students lived. He kind of pictured it as dark, dusty, considering it was above the library. It was not. There were big windows letting light in, couches and chairs around the open main room, book shelves lining the walls.

It didn’t have the hippie-vibe of the Psychic house, or the party-kid-mess look of the Physical Cottage.

It looked like Julia.

She guided him through, saying quick hellos as they passed the other students hanging around.

Her room was smaller, bed in the corner, stacks of books on the floor where they were overflowing from her shelves. She had a couple framed pictures, of a younger her and a younger Quentin.

Penny managed to get distracted enough, trying to look around and learn more about her. The ringing in his ears was just a little less painful for a few moments.

She pulled him to the bed, pushing him down by his shoulders.

“Don’t move,” she said.

“Whatever you say,” he replied.

He hunched over, holding his head in his hands, as she seemed to flit about the room. Grabbing books and bowls and ingredients for spells she was apparently stapling together to form something useful.

Penny realized how little he knew about her discipline. Meta-composition. He should ask her about it more.

Feeling especially corny, he thought he should just ask her about herself in general a lot more.

His crush was getting out of hand. More in the realm of “pining,” to be honest.

Penny was not a fan, in general, of the idea. But hey, it was _Julia_.

And then she was in front of him, taking his hands in hers.

“Okay, so I’m about ready,” she said. “I need you to close your eyes and hold your palms out. And _don’t move.”_

“Okay, got it,” he said, reluctantly straightening up, trying to ignore the splitting in his head.

He closed his eyes. He put his palms out. He took a deep breath.

He could hear her saying an incantation, low and fast, feel her put something in his palms, feel her touch his head.

The whole thing took maybe a couple minutes.

And then, all at once, it felt like his head was on _fire._ He jumped up, doubling over in pain, ready to collapse onto the ground—

And it was gone. In an instant.

Panting, he stood up straight again, looking around frantically.

“What the _hell,”_ he muttered.

Julia looked up at him, eyes hopeful. “What do you hear?”

Penny paused, listening. He blinked. “Nothing,” he said, softly.

It was so _quiet_. He let out a shaky breath.

“Christ, Jules,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

She smiled, brightening. “So it worked?”

He let out a short laugh. He looked down at her, smiling, warm and confused and shocked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It _worked.”_

He leaned down, hugging her tightly, completely incapable of putting into words what she’d just done for him. Completely incapable of telling her what it meant to him.

After a few moments, she pulled away, hitting his arm gently.

“Come on,” she said. “We already missed one class. We can’t skip another.”

He shook his head, awed. She had _no idea._ All those years, all those years of drinking and medicating and hating himself, hating everything… She had just completely changed his _life_ , and she had no idea. And how could he possibly even begin to thank her for it?

“Whatever you say, Julia.” At this point, he’d follow her anywhere.

\---

Eliot was lying down with his head in Margo’s lap and she laced her fingers through his hair.

“You gotta admit, it’s kind of amazing,” she said.

Eliot looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “That’s not _precisely_ the word I would use. What part are you referring to?”

She let out a short laugh. “The part where some high-strung nerd boy from your like, dream journal—from the _future_ —just fucking shows up, already in love with you.”

“We don’t know that he’s—” Eliot protested quickly.

“Fucking please,” Margo replied with a scoff. “You’ve seen the way the boy looks at you. Like you’ve got a magic dick.”

Helplessly, Eliot lost his words. He couldn’t even bring himself to make a joke about how _actually, Bambi, I do, in fact, have a magic dick._

He thought about seeing Quentin stumbling onto the school grounds, his hair in his eyes, his mouth slightly open, _staring_ at Eliot, speechless. With the new context, Eliot realized that his initial interpretation of Quentin’s staring may have been… off. There was possibly something more to it than a first-year boy startled and intrigued by Eliot’s persona.

What a fucking _terrifying_ concept. That it had been more, so much more. That the way Quentin had stared really _meant_ something.

“It was supposed to just be a crush, Bambi,” he said weakly. “Just another first year boy to dazzle.”

She nodded, her face softening in understanding. “But he’s not just another boy now.”

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Eliot asked.

Margo shrugged. “Suck his dick?”

“ _Margo.”_

“What? Hell if I know.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “You know, El, you liked him, too.”

Eliot huffed. “Sure, in a he’s-cute-and-in-front-of-me type way.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Fucking moron. Yeah, because you’d still be hanging around him if it had just been _that.”_

“Don’t accuse me of having feelings. It’s insulting.”

“Don’t be a fucking sap, then. Put your emotional cock back in your feelings-pants or whatever.”

He shook his head. “What an image, Bambi.”

\---

When they finally got back, Alice felt… different. She knew she would, but it was a strange kind of different. Carrying Charlie’s Shade around her neck felt _heavy._ Like a kind of weight she could never express.

She was closer than ever to getting her brother back, and she had what was essentially his soul with her, and somehow, he’d never felt farther away.

All at once, her resolve was crumbling. She wasn’t sure she could go through with it, any of it.

She didn’t feel fully herself anymore, in a way that scared her, and her brother wasn’t going to be _himself_ anymore, and where would that get either one of them?

They got back to the safety of Brakebills, to the safety of the Physical Cottage. Quentin started to duck his head and mumble a goodbye when Kady grabbed his arm.

“Oh no you don’t,” Kady said, dragging him to her room. Alice followed closely.

The set-up they had with the niffin cage was elaborate—it had taken a lot of time and planning and careful consideration. She was a little proud when she saw how Quentin’s eyes widened at it.

“Alright,” Kady said, letting go of Quentin. “Talk.”

“This is amazing,” he said, his voice a little awed, gesturing.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re very impressive,” Kady replied. She hit his arm. “ _Talk.”_

Alice crossed her arms. “What did you mean by multiple deaths? What is _going on?”_

Quentin studied the room, the set-up, the magic and the spells in place. He looked deep in thought, his eyes wandering around the room.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said, his voice a little quieter. “But I might need your help.”

Alice exchanged a look with Kady. Kady just shrugged.

Well. It was a way to delay bringing Charlie back. A way to delay whatever fallout would come from all of that, whatever consequences Alice wasn’t ready for.

Alice straightened her spine, raised her chin, flicked her hair back. “Tell us what you need, and maybe it’s a deal.”

Quentin looked back at them. “Do you think you could make a cage like this strong enough to hold gods?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the next update may take a little longer than usual. Things are starting to Actually Happen, and I am not good with plot.


	20. Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. The plot is delayed again. I'm not sorry.

“What the _actual_ fuck?” Kady said, scoffing and turning away. Quentin’s story was… unbelievable. As in, how could she possibly believe it?

Never mind dragons, _this_ was where she drew the fucking line.

“And we’re supposed to just accept all this?” Alice said incredulously.

She looked about as pissed as Kady felt.

Quentin scrubbed at his face. “Look…” he started.

“This is just… a whole fucking lot,” Kady interjected, shaking her head.

Quentin snorted. “No fucking kidding,” he said.

“Okay. So. Let me get this straight. First of all, there are _alternate timelines._ ” Alice took a deep breath and pressed her hands together. “I don’t even want to _touch_ that one. And then, second of all. You have been trying to stop a monster from killing everyone, a monster that you _know_ about because you’re from the only timeline where it was defeated, and we’re _involved,_ and you never thought to, I don’t know, mention any of this to the rest of us?”

He clenched his jaw, steadily maintaining eye contact. Kady was mildly impressed he was able to face Alice’s glare like that.

“I was hoping to not have to _have_ any of you involved,” he said quietly.

“How’s that going for you?” Kady asked, letting her voice drip with sarcasm.

Quentin shot her a look, his head dipping to the side. “Well, clearly not great, Kady,” he replied, sharp, gesturing vaguely to the whole situation. “But, you know, everyone usually _dies,_ so I was doing my best to, well, um, have that _not fucking happen_.”  

“Because keeping people in the dark is _such_ a good way to do that,” Alice retorted.

Quentin groaned and let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. Can you, like, _try_ to understand what this has been _like_ for me? I just show up here, in the middle of dealing with the shitshow crisis from my timeline, and I—I fucking _know_ all of you, and you don’t know me, and I have to try to remember shit from _years_ ago, because this whole _fucking_ thing depends on _me_ not screwing up. Because yeah, from what I know, me and everyone I care about is going to fucking _die_ here, _soon,_ and I’m supposed to just know how to stop it. It didn’t—fuck, it didn’t even go well in my own timeline, and that was the _success story._ I am _trying_ here, so fucking hard, and it could _easily_ be for nothing. So yeah, sorry if I thought that ignorance might be a better fucking option for the rest of you.”

Kady stared at him, taken aback. The fight went out of her. Alice had fallen silent, too.

“Yeah,” Quentin said with a sigh, rubbing the corner of his eye with his index finger. Kady realized all at once how _tired_ he looked. “So like. I _know,_ okay? I know I could be dealing with this better, but I just…”

Yeah. It sounded fucking awful. Kady didn’t really know how she’d be handling it, in his position. She had no way of knowing.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Quentin,” Alice said softly.

Quentin waved a hand dismissively. “I get it. It’s, um. It's a lot to take in.”

“Look, we’ll help,” Kady said, her voice low and as sincere as she could make it. “Of _course_ we’ll help.”

He looked—God, he looked _relieved._ And then conflicted. “Thanks,” he said, genuinely. Kady felt a stab of sympathy at the underlying guilt in his voice.

Alice took a breath. “Okay. I don’t know much about dealing with gods, but we can research and see what modifications we’d need to make for this set up. The one we have here, it took us—what, Kady, like a week, about? So we’ll need some time. And some space. But we can figure it out.”

“Alright,” Quentin said. “I’ll get you whatever I can.”

“So this Beast, the one you say we almost summoned when you stopped us before—” Kady said. “That the god we’re trying to trap?”

Quentin looked reluctant. “Uh, not exactly.”

“Look, we’ll help, but you gotta let us in on all of it,” Kady continued, trying to keep a neutral tone. “Full disclosure.”

He glanced away, looking towards the window. “How much do you guys know about Fillory?”

Kady exchanged a glance with Alice.

“What, those kids’ books? Almost nothing,” Alice said.

“Right,” Quentin sighed. “So, um. This isn’t a fun story.”

\---

It was a waiting game now, and Julia wasn’t exactly what one would call “patient.”

They had the semblance of a plan, but it was absolutely not a sure thing. And now, there was Alice and Kady, apparently involved, building one of the last pieces of the puzzle.

It was all happening so _slowly._

And it also just happened to coincide with the point in the semester when there was a lull in classwork. Midterms had passed. Prepping for finals hadn’t quite started. It was the time in the year when Julia got _bored._ And the fact that there was an impending crisis only made it worse.

Well, there was always study group with Penny.

Julia had officially stopped trying to nag Quentin into coming. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“There has got to be _something_ we can do,” Julia muttered, half to herself, as she flipped through her books.

“What, are you _mad_ that we don’t have enough schoolwork to do?” Penny said. He sounded amused.

She groaned. “Honestly? Yeah. Kind of.”

“Nerd.”

“Slacker.”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?” Penny said with a small smile. “A step above Q, at least.”

“Yeah, I went to high school with him, that’s a pretty low bar,” Julia replied, shooting him an unimpressed glance. “I couldn’t get him sit still to study anything if he wasn’t already interested in it.” She paused and gave Penny a wry smile. “Besides, I suspect you have ulterior motives here and are not simply oh-so invested in your education.”

Penny broke eye contact for a moment, looking almost embarrassed. He quickly covered with a casual shrug and a sardonic smile. “What can I say? I’m just waiting for you to offer to buy _me_ coffee one of these days.”

He said it as a joke, but Julia knew better than that. She smiled warmly and rolled her eyes.

“Alright. Come on, then.” She nudged his leg and jumped up to her feet.

He looked confused for a moment. “What?”

“Keep up, Penny. Let’s go, I’m buying you coffee.”

“You don’t actually have to—”

“Are you saying no?”

“I mean, no, but—”

“Great, let’s go,” Julia said, touching his shoulder lightly.

He gazed up at her, smiling a little, before standing up. They were standing inches apart and he didn’t move away.

She cleared her throat, feeling a little flushed as she stepped back.

_This is so dumb, it’s Penny, why are you nervous?_

“Let’s go off campus, though,” she said, turning and starting to walk without looking back. “I miss the city.”

“I’ll go anywhere you go, Wicker,” Penny said, following.

\---

Margo demanding to be a part of everything was a development Quentin had, for some reason, not seen coming.

_Don’t think you’re off the hook for lying to me, Coldwater,_ she’d said. _But if the Beast or what-fucking-ever fucked with Eliot, then it’s personal now. And if Fillory is real and you’re trying to save it from getting totally fucked, I’m coming too. Face it, you’re gonna need our help anyway._

The way she’d said it, the way she’d crossed her arms and stared Quentin down like she was daring him to argue… It was all very reminiscent of High King Margo from his timeline. He did remember that a part of her had always been that person, a part of her had always been the ruthless monarch he knew her to be.

Quentin wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea that Eliot had gotten the rest of the story from Fogg, and that he and Margo had been figuring it all out.

But Quentin knew, too, that this version of Eliot was not the man he’d grown old with. Maybe he should’ve expected Eliot to pull away, to look elsewhere to get a handle on what was happening, to try and sort through things on his own. The life where they’d learned to rely on each other didn’t exist.

It would all be okay, though. Quentin kept telling himself that. Between the two of them. He had to have faith in that, in _them_. If Eliot needed some time, some space, he could have it. They had to deal with this whole crisis anyway.

Or at least, the crisis was coming up. It was, frankly, frustrating to have the free time to worry about it. Quentin couldn’t exactly quiet his mind.

Either he was worrying about Eliot, or he was worrying about the plan, or he was worrying about the Beast. Some days, it was all three on rotation. And it was one of _those_ days.

Trying to get some time to steady himself, Quentin paced around his room.

He wanted to make sure everything turned out okay here. He wanted this place to be _good._ To be _better._ He wanted to believe it could be. He wanted to believe that they had a real chance here.

He took a deep breath, pressing his palms together.

They could save Martin. They could save Fillory. They could even save _Charlie_.

_Just this once, everybody lives,_ right?

Just this _once_ , it was all going to be okay. Quentin _had_ to believe it was possible. He had to.

There was a tentative knock at his door and Quentin stopped pacing.

“Yeah?”

“Can I, um… Can I come in?” Eliot’s voice.

“Oh, um. Yeah. Sure, yeah,” Quentin said. His heart was already beating a little faster. “Of course.”

The door opened slowly, and there was Eliot, looking as perfect as ever in a familiar purple vest, with his hair styled to look just messy enough.

For the thousandth time, Quentin had to take a moment to make himself not stare.

Eliot took a shallow breath and leaned back against the door after he closed it.

“Hey,” he said. His voice sounded curiously lacking in the usual affectations.

Quentin furrowed his brow. Wondering. “Hey,” he replied, a question in his tone.

“Right, um,” Eliot started.

Quentin noticed his fingers twitching slightly against the door, in that familiar nervous way. He’d been around Eliot enough to memorize his gestures, his anxious ticks.

He blinked, studying Eliot’s guarded expression. He was nervous. He was tense. He was…

“Are you okay?” Quentin asked slowly.

Eliot let out a short laugh. “Oh, you know me,” he said. It almost sounded like it was meant to be humorous, but his voice seemed to catch.

Like he was realizing the truth of it.

Oh.

Quentin cleared his throat. “There something you wanted to talk about, El?”

Eliot looked pained. “Want is such a strong word,” he said, almost managing to get back to his distant drawl.

A stab of sympathy hit Quentin in the chest. He knew how hard this must be for Eliot. He knew what kind of willpower it took for Eliot to not run away at the first sign of something real. After all, he had firsthand experience of it. “You don’t have to do this,” he said softly.

“Unfortunately, I think I do,” Eliot replied. He rested his head against the door, looking up at the ceiling. “You said, um. You said that you would tell me more. If you thought I really wanted to know.”

“I did,” Quentin confirmed.

“Well. This is me. Wanting to know.”

“Convincing.”

“Please, Q.” Eliot finally looked at him, eyes wide and jaw tightened.

Quentin met his gaze, feeling a little helpless.

“Are you sure?”

Eliot snorted, breaking eye contact again. “No,” he said.

Quentin sat down on the edge of his bed, tucking his leg underneath him. He studied Eliot’s face for a moment. This man he’d love in any timeline, on any world, with any memories.

“For my own sake, El,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “I need you to be sure.”

_I don’t want you to run away again,_ he didn’t add. The thing was, Quentin, he was all in. He was _always_ all in when it came to Eliot. Whole-heartedly, no doubt about it, would never try to deny it. Quentin couldn’t be dishonest about his feelings if he tried. And he’d never _want_ to be dishonest about them. There was no use trying to hide who and what Quentin loved.

Eliot, on the other hand…

Quentin knew that the Mosaic had been a special circumstance. He knew that the lifetime they’d lived together had impacted them both, in ways they’d never fully understand, but even after that, even after _proof of concept…_

Eliot had still tried to deny it. He’d still wanted to cover it up, because Eliot had _walls._ And Quentin couldn’t do anything but take it, accept it. Because it didn’t matter that _he_ believed in them; they both had to. It was a leap of faith Quentin would be willing to take again and again and again.

Being rejected by Eliot had hurt like hell, but Quentin would do it all over again. Because _he_ needed to know that he’d done everything he could, that he’d put all of himself into it.

But this, too, like the Mosaic, was a special circumstance. And Quentin wasn’t sure he was ready to face this one. The possibility, the chance, of another heartbreak. He’d already lost Eliot so many times.

The pause stretched, the silence growing. Quentin watched Eliot’s hand twitch against the door.

Eliot took a breath, seeming to steel himself before walking over and sitting next to Quentin on the bed. Keeping a safe distance, Quentin noted.

“Margo kind of… yelled at me. Insisted I needed to talk to you.” Eliot tied to make eye contact before his gaze dropped away. That, too, was familiar.

Quentin cracked a slight smile. “That’s Margo for you.” He leaned in, just barely, keeping his eyes on Eliot’s. “But El, if you’re not ready—”

“I just find it all so hard to believe,” Eliot said, and the sincerity in his tone was startling.

Yeah, because it was all pretty fucking unbelievable. “Which part?” Quentin replied.

Eliot didn’t answer. He glanced at Quentin briefly. “What were we? Really? Where you come from?” he asked quietly.

And then Quentin had to look away. He looked towards the window, at the sky outside. What an inexplicably difficult question. How could he express all that Eliot was to him, all that they’d been to each other? They’d lived a _lifetime_ together. They’d grown old. Quentin had buried Eliot in their yard, wrapped in their quilt, the one they’d been sitting on when Quentin first managed to get the courage to kiss him.

And, beyond their life in the Mosaic memories, Quentin had always loved Eliot. From the moment Eliot had told him he wasn’t alone, Quentin had loved Eliot as a friend. And then he’d fallen for him, piece by piece. It had been complicated, and messy, and amazing.

How could he summarize any of that? Every moment had been important.

“There’s no word for what we were,” Quentin said simply.

There was a beat of silence. Quentin ventured a glance, unsure of Eliot’s reaction. And again, it was familiar—a mix of wonder and fear in his eyes, so close to the way he’d looked that day in the throne room.

And then Eliot straightened his spine and cleared his throat, covering. “Well, Q, that’s very descriptive,” he drawled.

“Mm, I tried,” Quentin replied, a smile growing on his face.

Eliot shot him a look. “Alright, how about this? You tell me the first thing that happened between us and then the latest thing, and I’ll fill in the blanks myself.”

There was an idea. A short laugh escaped Quentin, a bubble of the sheer absurdity of the entire situation. “Sure,” he said, keeping his eyes on Eliot to watch his face. “I guess the first _thing_ was a threesome you, me, and Margo had.”

A look of confusion and alarm passed over Eliot’s face, very briefly, a blink-and-you-miss-it type moment, before Eliot covered it up.

“Oh, Coldwater, are you trying to shock me?” he said, his tone unimpressed. “You can’t pull that trick again.”

Quentin shrugged, letting it slide. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. It was fun the first time.”

Eliot waved a hand airily. “Well, go on. What was the latest?”

And the light mood dissipated, leaving Quentin a little empty. He dropped his gaze to the floor, any semblance of a smile fallen from his face. The silence stretched for a moment, as Quentin tried to find the words. How could he explain the last thing that happened between them in his timeline?

“That bad?” Eliot said, dropping the affectation. Hesitantly, he put a gentle hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

Quentin leaned into the touch a little. He looked up at Eliot, forcing a bare smile. “Remember how, um…” he started. “Remember how I said… Before, I mean. That I knew what it was like? To have someone you care about possessed by a monster?”

Some realization crossed Eliot’s face, followed quickly by an almost painful softness in his eyes. “Oh,” he said, and the syllable held so much of the Eliot that Quentin recognized that he could’ve cried.

“You broke out of possession for a minute, just enough to tell me you were still alive,” Quentin continued, swallowing back his feelings. “And then I was trying to save you.”

Eliot studied Quentin’s face for a moment longer before putting his arm over his shoulders, letting Quentin lean in to his chest.

“Okay, so maybe I can’t _quite_ fill in the blanks,” Eliot said mildly.

Quentin laughed a little. “But it’s such a natural progression,” he said, trying to cover the slight crack in his voice.

Eliot squeezed his shoulder, pulling him just a little closer. Quentin felt himself relax a little, as easy as breathing. “Hm, right, of course. Tale as old as time.”

\---

Finding information on gods in the Brakebills library was both very easy and very difficult.

Because there was plenty of mythology, plenty of theology, plenty of stories. There were theory books, too, on the magic of gods and how much magic itself could be traced back to mythology. Books on the history of magic that touched on the religious side of it.

There were also some confusing, very recent romance novels about Bacchus that seemed to imply that he was around and on social media.

Alice wasn’t sure what to make of that one, but she was relatively certain she didn’t want to know any more. She certainly didn’t want to read any of _those_ books, because if the covers were any indication, they were going to be explicit.

She and Kady had been searching and studying in a comfortable silence for a while before Kady broke it.

“Did you believe?” Kady said, flipping through her book. “In gods, I mean.”

Alice glanced up. She almost wanted to laugh. “Kady, I barely believe in magic.”

Kady looked up from her book, bow furrowed. She looked almost sad.

Alice felt a little self-conscious, like she shouldn’t have said anything.

“We had pretty different childhoods, huh?” Kady said.

Alice raised her eyebrow. “We established that a while ago.”

“No, I mean. With magic.” Kady tapped her finger against the pages. “For you, in your family, magic was like, a tool. A chore, almost. For me and my mom, it was an adventure.”

“Sounds kind of romantic,” Alice replied. She never knew much about hedge witches, just that her mother thought they were “pathetic and desperate, and _totally_ incompetent.” She had been shown the hedge witch symbols only so she knew to avoid them.

“More dangerous, too.” Kady looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know, we could talk to the hedges. See if they’ve got anything on gods. Someone’s bound to know something.”

“We might have better luck with them,” Alice said with a sigh. She leaned back in her chair. “But, unfortunately, I think I know somewhere else we should try, too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Alice avoided eye contact. “My parents’ house. Their library. They’ve got quite a collection.”

Kady let out a short laugh. “Right, so to do this, we have to deal with your parents and my mom.” She shook her head. “Think we should just tell Q we can’t help after all?”

Alice cracked a smile. “I’m tempted. How bad could being killed by the Beast, really?”

“I mean. Would it be worse than our parents?”

“Who’s to say?”


	21. Where You Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it feels like I'm more anxious about writing chapter titles and responding to comments than writing the actual story.  
> Also, did I say we were getting into plot soon? Well. I don't know what to say about that. I keep adding other things instead. Just picture the Beast having some tea with a talking ocelot as he waits for these people to pull their plans together.

Kady hadn’t seen or spoken to her mom since getting off the hook with Marina. She’d been ignoring phone calls and texts. Part of her wanted to see her mom, wanted to forgive her. For so long, her mom had been all she had. The only person in her life that she loved. Part of her just wanted this whole mess to be over, so they could move on.

But Kady wasn’t alone anymore. She didn’t only have her mom.

And how was she supposed to just move on like it never happened, like her mom hadn’t _sold_ her?

How was that forgivable?

“What can I do? To make this easier?” Alice said softly as they walked.

Kady glanced at Alice. She had hoped she’d been better at hiding her discomfort. But hey, it was Alice.

“Just stay with me,” Kady replied. “I’ll handle Hannah, and we can just make this as fast as possible.”

Hannah’s place was about as Kady remembered it. The brick building that seemed abandoned, protected by the wards that she and Hannah had set up years ago. It was designed to be a forgettable building, so no one would pay attention to the fact that it probably should’ve been torn down years ago.

The first word that came to mind when Kady saw it was _home,_ and it honestly made her stomach turn a little. That she hadn’t let go yet.

“Kady?”

Kady inhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

She walked to the door and knocked. A little too aggressively, but whatever. She was still angry and it sort of felt like she was going to be angry forever.

And then her mom opened the door, and Kady’s anger faltered for a split second.

“Chickadee!” Hannah said enthusiastically, putting her hands on Kady’s shoulders. “It’s been so long, baby.”

That was all it took for the anger to burn again. _Don’t fucking call me “chickadee” like you didn’t fuck up my life._ Kady clenched her jaw and pulled away ever so slightly. “Yeah. Well.”

“What happened?” her mom replied, voice shaking a little as she brought her hand up to touch Kady’s cheek.

Kady leaned away more, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not here to catch up,” she said coldly. “I’m here for information.”

Her mom pulled away, looking openly hurt. Kady felt the guilt rising in her throat, the familiar feeling that she should always be so _careful_ not to hurt her mom’s feelings, because her mom was so _fragile_ and easily bruised. Kady had spent too many hours comforting her after a bad fight, regardless of who had been at fault.

“Mom,” she said, trying for firm. She felt Alice briefly reach over and squeeze her arm before stepping back.

“I was so glad to hear that you managed to get out of debt with Marina,” her mom said. “I wondered what had happened, why you hadn’t told me about it. How you did that.”

“It’s kind of none of your business,” Kady said, stifling a sigh.

“Oh, Chickadee, you’re my _daughter_ —of course it’s my business, I _love_ you.”

“It’s only your business because it was your debt.” Kady took a breath, put a hand up. Tried to calm herself. “I’m not talking about this now.”

“But—”

“No, listen. I’m just here to ask for information. If you want to help, then just listen and tell me if you know anything. If you just want to talk about Marina or… or start apologizing again, I’m leaving.”

Hannah frowned, her lips quirking up in a tiny, sad smile. “Of course,” she said, her voice quivering. “What do you need?”

Kady tightened her jaw. “Names. Do you know any hedges that know shit about gods?”

“Oh, sweetie,” her mom replied. “I’m not on good terms with many hedges right now. I suppose I could call some old contacts, but I don’t know if they’d…”

Kady turned to Alice. “This was a waste of time. Let’s go.”

Alice nodded, starting to pull her away.

“No, wait!” Hannah said. “Stay a while. I’ll help. Maybe I’ll have more luck, who knows? Maybe some of my hedge friends will know someone. I’ve missed you so much, Chickadee. At least come in for lunch, or—or tea, okay? _Please._ I really want you to stay. We should _talk._ ”

Her voice was bordering on desperate, and Kady felt her resolve crack. It was her _mom._

“Listen,” Alice’s sharp, professional voice cut in. “Hannah, right?”

Hannah nodded, eyes wide and lip trembling.

“Hannah. We have a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time. Why don’t we come back at a later date? We can plan for something.” Alice’s tone remained crisp and distant. Her lips pursed, her posture rigid.

“That would—that would be great, I—”

“Good. Then we should be going. Kady?” Alice turned to her, gaze betrayed a slight question. _Did you need saving?_

Kady tried to convey her thanks as she nodded.

Alice looked back at Hannah. “Pleasure to meet you.”

And then she spun on her heel before Hannah could reply, pulling Kady away briskly.

“Thanks,” Kady said under her breath. “It’s hard to say no to her.”

Alice nodded. “I get it.” She glanced at Kady, offering a rare, unguarded smile.

Kady felt her shoulders relax as they turned the corner, leaving Hannah’s place behind.

\---

“Well?” Margo said impatiently.

Eliot hesitated. This had moved far, far past the realm of gossip. He wasn’t sure he could just _tell_ her. He didn’t even really know many details—they’d left so much unsaid. Eliot could only gather from the way Q had looked at him, from the way it had started and ended.

New context. Q’s stare that first day shifted in meaning yet again.

Not a first-year boy dazzled by Eliot stretched out, smoking and posing. Not an old flame startled by seeing a former version of their ex.

No, a desperate man who had been trying in vain to save someone he loved, the relief of seeing the version of them before the disaster, the relief of a semblance of safety after all that pain. A desperate man, _possibly_ seeing the love of his life after believing him to be lost for good. It was…

It was the kind of raw, complex emotions that typically made Eliot run and hide. Some unfathomable, enormous weight of something _real,_ truly real, that normally scared him into tightening his façade, into brushing it off as nothing, into hurting people before they could get the chance to hurt him.

But the expression on Quentin’s face, the way he’d deflated when Eliot asked about _that last thing_ , that weak smile as he told Eliot about the possession… Eliot couldn’t find it in him to be worried about the complexity and the authenticity of the emotions. It had barely crossed his mind, in the moment. All he could do was feel a stab at his heart, a desire to do _anything_ to make Q genuinely smile again.

But. That was _in the moment_ , in the overwhelming moment with Quentin beside him, where all he could do was put his arm around him, trying to convey how _sorry_ he was, trying to convey…

Now Eliot was sitting with Margo, and they’d been halfway treating this whole thing as a mystery, and Eliot couldn’t bring himself to try and express the seriousness of everything. It _wasn’t fun anymore._ And honestly, he wasn’t sure how to tell Margo that, without betraying Quentin’s trust in some way.

“You know in his timeline, we had a threesome?” Well, it seemed like a safe enough place to start. Somehow, that seemed like the least private thing.

“You, me, and Quentin?” Margo raised her eyebrows. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting _that.”_

“Mm. Quite the surprise, isn’t it? Little Q, who would’ve thought.”

“Wonder what could’ve led to that.”

“I imagine drinking was involved.”

“A fucking _lot_ of drinking, I bet. Tequila? Mm, no, sangria. Sangria causes threesomes.” She frowned a little. “I gotta say, I’m mildly insulted he ended up falling for you, then. I didn’t know I was in the running.”

Eliot cracked a smile. “What, have you got a crush on the boy?”

She scoffed. “Obviously not. I’m just _saying._ If he had a chance with all _this_ … _”_ She gestured to herself. 

“Bruised pride, I understand. At least you lost to _me_ , which is, of course, understandable _._ ”

She flicked her hair back, giving him a wry smile. “So what, is that it then? We blew his mind, he blew you, and now he’s hung up on you forever?”

Eliot leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “It would appear so.”

“Hmm,” Margo replied, tangling their fingers together. “Fine. Don’t tell me the rest. You know _,_ I wonder what Todd’s been up to.”

He shot her a glare. “You are not ditching me for Todd over this.”

She touched his cheek. “Oh, of course not, baby. Just threatening to.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I certainly hope so,” she replied with a grin. “So, we gonna reenact the Dream Team threesome or what?”

He picked up a pillow and hit her with it. “You’re a nightmare, Bambi.”

“Mm, but you love me. What kind of sangria?”

“He didn’t specify the alcohol involved.” Eliot paused, and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know. That kind we made last fall. With the red wine and peaches?”

Margo burst out laughing. “Of _course._ The red wine we used—”

“It was called _Ménage a Trois,”_ Eliot finished, joining in with her giddy laughter.

“Oh, oh, _oh,_ we have got to make that sangria again for the next party. See if our Q has a reaction. Bet ten bucks he’ll get redder than the fucking wine.”

“Too easy, Q’ll blush at anything.”

Margo made an expression of near-sympathy. “Oh, the poor, poor kid.”

Eliot let out a sigh, feeling lighter. If you couldn’t laugh at alternate timeline threeway debacles, what could you laugh at?

\---

Alice stood outside, the locket around her neck feeling heavier and heavier by the second.

She wondered if, in some way, Charlie’s soul knew where they were. She wondered how he would feel about it.

He’d always had the better relationship with their parents. Part of the reason his death had caused such a rift, she supposed. He kept the peace in their household. He was always good at causing distractions when a fight was about to break out.

And Stephanie adored him. In a way she’d never really cared for Alice.

Charlie, he was everyone’s favorite. Their dad’s, Stephanie’s, and Alice’s. The whole family might as well have fallen apart without him.

Alice brought her hand up, rubbing a thumb against the locket’s surface. It felt charged. _Charlie, I really wish you were here. You always softened our mother. I just agitate her more._

“We don’t _have_ to go in,” Kady said. “We can figure something else out.”

With that, Alice steeled herself. Kady had faced _her_ mother. “No. I can do this. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Kady replied. “But we can leave whenever you need to. We have other options. There are other hedges we could talk to. We could even go to Marina, if it comes to that.”

Alice shook her head. “This is our best bet. We need to try.” She shot Kady a sidelong glance. “And we’re _not_ going to Marina.”

She hoped she’d said it in a tone that conveyed it wasn’t up for discussion.

Taking a breath, she walked up to the door and knocked, comforted by Kady’s presence beside her.

Stephanie answered, in her loungewear, holding a large glass of wine. She didn’t look surprised to see them. She looked indifferent, maybe a little annoyed.

“Oh, _Alice,_ so good to see you,” she said, moving aside to let them in. “I was wondering when you’d ever grace us with your presence again.”

Alice stifled a sigh as best she could. “Yeah, great to see you too,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Stephanie said.

The house looked different. It _always_ looked different, because her parents were too bored and useless to do anything other than redecorate. It was one of the many things Alice had hated about growing up here. Without warning, all of her belongings would switch rooms. Favorite articles of clothing or favorite stuffed animals would be carelessly lost, all because Stephanie felt like her _meditation space_ needed a new view or something.

Alice tried not to linger too long on all the unfamiliar paintings on the walls. Or on the various couches and suspended swings that Alice had known from a young age _not to sit on._

“Where’s Dad?” Alice asked. More to fill the silence that had grown that anything else.

“I see, you still can’t spend five minutes with just me,” Stephanie said with a wave of her hand.

“Mom—”

“No, no, it’s _fine._ Your father isn’t here at the moment.” Her mom smiled. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with _me,_ poor you.”

Alice decided not to engage. It wasn’t worth it.

“We’re here to look in the library,” Alice said, trying to keep her voice level. The words seemed like they were coming out too fast, betraying her nervousness. “We need to research something.”

Stephanie scoffed, raising her eyebrow and taking a sip of her wine. “Wow,” she said, managing to convey all the incredulous disappointment.

“Please, Mom,” Alice said.

Her mom shot her a look.

Alice gritted her teeth. “Stephanie,” she amended.

Stephanie smiled. Alice felt the irritation in her skin at the way it was both disdainful and pitying, in that way her mother always smiled at her. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“I just can’t believe that you’re only visiting because you _need_ something,” Stephanie said. “Especially considering you left without warning after stealing my alumni key.”

Alice closed her eyes. “Just let us look in the library and then we’ll go.”

“Isn’t there something you want to say to me?” Stephanie replied, her tone faux-innocent. “Like, I don’t know, an apology?”

“Sorry for stealing your alumni key,” she replied with a flat tone.

“Oh, honey,” Stephanie said. “I think you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Can we not? Can we just not do this right now?”

Stephanie put up her hands, as though in defeat. “Fine, then I guess you don’t _really_ need to use the library, do you?”

Alice pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said slowly.

Stephanie shrugged nonchalantly. “I’d just like some _acknowledgement_ of how hard all this has been on me. A little empathy might be _nice_. I’m human, too, you know, since you so like to forget. I just _think_ it’d be nice to have my _only_ daughter recognize that.”

God, her haughty, self-centered air, her condescending, arrogant tone. Alice wanted to scream.

“Mrs. Quinn—” Kady interjected.

“Please, call me Stephanie,” she replied, her voice practically dripping with exaggerated hospitality.

Alice felt a little twinge of satisfaction when Kady narrowed her eyes.

“Stephanie,” Kady said, her tone cold. “I’m sorry to intrude, but we really don’t have a lot of time. If you’d rather we not use your library, we should just go.”

Kady’s tone was so flat and polite, you could _almost_ miss the rage that seemed to be seething right below the surface. Alice felt some relief—the few friends she’d had in high school always _adored_ Stephanie. It made her crazy.

Stephanie paused, pursing her lips. There was a long, tense moment, where Kady just made steady eye contact, her chin raised.

“Fine, fine,” Stephanie said absently. “You know the door code, Alice.” She turned and stalked off to the kitchen.

Kady raised her eyebrows and shook her head, shooting Alice a look. “Jesus,” she said under her breath.

Alice shrugged. She wasn’t really interested in getting into it. Besides, from where she was standing, she thought Kady had it worse.

“The library is this way.” She led Kady to it, punching in the code—Charlie’s birthday, always Charlie’s birthday—and heading in.

The books were… not organized in any way that made sense. And there was no magic in the library—her father had once heard something from someone one time about how magic might hurt books, and that was that. So they ended up painstaking searching through, starting on opposite ends of the room.

Alice hated most of her house, but the library was a slight comfort. It was the only room in the house that never smelled like Stephanie’s harsh, floral perfume.

“Okay, I’ve got something,” Kady called after some time. She was flipping through a small, unimpressive looking book with frayed pages. “This has—wow, this has a _lot.”_

Alice walked over, her curiosity peaked. “What is it?”

“An old notebook from some Magician,” Kady replied. “It’s got some pretty specific shit. Like, plants that affect gods. A recipe for ambrosia, and what you can do with it. I think this is all we need. Should we try and copy it?”

“No,” Alice said, a little pleased about what she was going to get to suggest. “Let’s steal it.”

Kady smirked. “If you say so.”

\---

Waiting for Alice and Kady to be ready, Quentin, Penny, and Julia spent some time hashing out various details involved. They talked about the time travel aspect, how they’d be able to get to Fillory, Quentin told them all about the Neitherlands _(shit, Josh, Q kept forgetting about him)—_

Eventually, they were getting to the topic of how to split up the various roles, who would be tasked with which part of the plan, who needed the button and who could travel with Penny, until—

“But I can’t travel other people,” Penny said, looking confused by Quentin’s offhand remark.

Quentin took a breath, closing his eyes. Trying to remember. “You could in my timeline… Penny 40 and Penny 23 both could, what did they… I know there was something—”

“Wait, 23 and 40?” Penny repeated.

“Oh, um, so, yeah, uh, right… The Penny from, um, Timeline 40 died, and then the, uh, the Penny from Timeline 23 kinda… Ditched his timeline to move to Timeline 40.”

“Wait, you can do that? Move to a different timeline?” Julia asked, straightening up.

“There were two of me?” Penny said.

“Yes, apparently, and um, not at the same time, but also yes?” Quentin ran a hand through his hair. He was ill equipped to answer questions about the logistics of time travel bullshit.

“So does, uh, does that mean that you… Well, I mean, are you going to go back? To Timeline 40? Once this is all done?” Julia asked hesitantly.

Quentin paused. He… hadn’t thought about, to be perfectly honest. It hadn’t crossed his mind what would happen after all of this. Really, in the back of his mind, he just figured he’d probably die, since it’s one of the former timelines, and it would be a non-issue.

But… If he didn’t die… If everything _did_ turn out alright in the end…

Would he have to go back?

Suddenly, he felt crushed under the weight.

Back to the Monster. Back to Eliot being _gone._ Back to the aftermath of Alice’s betrayal. Back to Julia and Penny 23 and them not _listening_ to him. Back to Margo being in Fillory, far away when she was the only person who could possibly _get_ it.

Back to the _Monster._

And the idea of _leaving_ these people—

Leaving Julia 9, Eliot 9, _Penny_ 9—

Everyone, everyone here—

He loved them, all of them, how could he _leave,_ would he really have to abandon this place, this place that had become _his—_

“Whoa, hey—hey, Quentin, breathe,” Penny said, moving forward and putting a hand to Quentin’s shoulder. He sounded… worried?

Quentin almost laughed. Penny, showing genuine concern for him, no pretense. Fucking wild.

“God, what if I—I have to—I mean, they… God, when I left… They—they _need_ me there, what am I—”

“Hey, yo, hold up, wait—” Penny said, tightening his grip on Quentin’s shoulder, searching his gaze. “ _We_ need you, too—breathe, man—”

“I don’t—I don’t—” Quentin tried to get out. The Monster, breaking his arms. Touching his hair. Slicing the throats of innocent strangers, right in front of him. The blood splattering on Quentin’s skin, feeling like he could never wash it off, like it would be burned there forever…

_Do a card trick for me, Quentin._

Would he have to _fucking go back to all of that?_

Jane Chatwin hadn’t been forthcoming with her goddamn plans.

What the fuck was he _doing_ here? If he wasn’t going to stay?  

“Q, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Julia said, her eyes wide.

Quentin rubbed a hand down his face, taking a long shaky breath. His skin felt hot.

“It’s fine—it’s uh, it’s fine, um—can I just, uh—” he stammered. He closed his eyes. _Form a fucking sentence._ “Can I just get a minute?”

“Sure thing,” Julia said gently. She put a hand on Penny’s arm. “Hey, let’s um. Let’s get some water for him or something.”

Quentin noticed that Penny was still touching his shoulder. He seemed hesitant to move it.

“Right, uh,” Penny started. He pulled his hand away reluctantly. He started to turn to follow Julia, but he paused. “Listen. We’ll figure it out, Q.”

As they closed the door behind them, Quentin leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, tucking his knees close to his chest.

_Breathe._

All over again, he questioned why Jane would give _him_ this kind of responsibility.

God, it was all _so fuckin much._

He looked towards the door. He wasn’t sure how long Julia and Penny were planning to give him to get himself under control, but he was almost certain that it wouldn’t be enough time.

He closed his eyes tightly. Thinking of all the times he’d needed comfort in his own timeline. Thinking of how he’d steadied himself, how he’d calmed himself. Where he’d gone, who he’d gone to in order to seek a soft place to land in his spiral.

 _I can’t,_ he thought to himself, a little miserably.

But the air felt heavy, and the lights were too bright, and everything was so _enormous,_ and Quentin just…

He slipped out of his room, walking lightly down the hall, hoping that Julia and Penny were going to take their time.

And he stood outside the door, fist raised to knock, hovering. Frozen.

He was essentially holding his breath, letting time pass.

The door opened.

“Oh. Q,” Eliot said, surprised. “Hello.”

Quentin lowered his hand awkwardly. “Hey, I—um…”

Eliot furrowed his brow, studying Quentin’s face, his expression shifting. “Okay,” he said gently, putting a hand on Quentin’s arm. “Come in, let’s um. Let’s just take a minute, hm?”

Quentin felt his shoulders sag a little with relief. Eliot always knew, he could _always_ tell. Any timeline, any place.

Eliot closed the door behind them, leading Quentin to the bed. He sat down next to him, their legs touching.

“Are you…?” Eliot started.

Quentin groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“Right,” Eliot said.

“El, I’m sorry, I just—”

“No, it’s alright, Q. Really.” Eliot turned towards him a little.

“No, I mean—I just, I—I know I shouldn’t be, like, I don’t know, coming to you like this—um, I just, I—”

“Hey,” Eliot said gently. “What was it you said? We’re friends, here and now? It’s _okay_ , Q.”

Quentin rubbed at his face, feeling almost, inexplicably, like laughing. “Look, okay—I, I know that, um, that—that you said, you know, you aren’t him, and I—okay, I, um, I—I get that, alright, I swear, I _understand,_ that it wasn’t exactly me and it definitely wasn’t _you,_ in that place, where, where we were—but listen, alright, it kind of _was,_ it _was_ me, and… and it kind of _was_ us, even if you don’t—even if it’s just memories for me, and—fuck, God, you never even got _those,_ and even if it wasn’t _real,_ it _felt_ real, and it’s _real_ to me, and I just—Look, alright, sorry—I’m sorry, this isn’t fair to you—”

“Quentin, breathe, alright?” Eliot placed his palm against Quentin’s chest, fanning out his fingers.

Quentin took a breath, shaky and broken. “I just… Okay, I need my best friend, alright?” He dropped his hands to his lap, hanging his head. “I’m sorry. I know this sounds dumb.”

“ _Hey,”_ Eliot replied, kindly, emphatically. He put his other hand on the side of Quentin’s neck, rubbing his thumb along Quentin’s jawline.

Quentin closed his eyes, shivering— _the memories that brought up._ The images surfaced before Quentin could push them away. And it _hurt_ , it really fucking hurt, but it comforted him, too. All those times, all those moments, all those memories…

“It’s okay, Quentin, you’re okay.”

He glanced up at Eliot and his chest tightened from the way Eliot was looking at him, with those soft, worried eyes. He tried to look away, but his gaze ended up flicking down to Eliot’s lips, and with Eliot’s hand still on his neck— _wow, okay, not helpful._

He squeezed his eyes closed again. He kept his hands firmly on his lap, tense. _Push it away, Quentin, you aren’t allowed to feel like that about him._

And then Eliot pulled him into an embrace, kissing him softly on the forehead.

Quentin felt the tension start to fade as he buried his face against Eliot’s chest. _God._ It felt like he shouldn’t be doing this. Like it wasn’t fair to want this Eliot to _care_ about him, really. Like it wasn’t fair to ask for anything from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Eliot said, his voice smooth and soothing.

 _This is selfish._ Quentin couldn’t help the small feeling of guilt, like _how dare he take anything from Eliot, how dare he put his problems on Eliot, how dare he—_

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Eliot asked, stroking Quentin’s hair.

“What if I have to go back? After all this is over?” Quentin murmured into his chest.

Eliot stilled. His chest tensed and his hand hovered over Quentin’s head. “Go back?” he said, his voice mild and even.

“I don’t belong here, Eliot. I’m not _supposed_ to be here.” Quentin leaned back a little, sighing. He looked up at Eliot, whose expression was carefully controlled. “What if once all this is over, once the Beast is defeated, I, um…”

Eliot studied his face.

“Do you… _want_ to go back?” he said slowly.

Quentin opened his mouth, but no words would come. _Did_ he? He didn’t spend a lot of time considering what he _wanted._ Only what everyone needed from him.

It was strange—like the way that Penny 23 both was and wasn’t Penny 40. The way that you could love multiple iterations of the same person. The way that this timeline both was and wasn’t Quentin’s real life.

He felt split. Like there was no version of him that belonged anywhere anymore.

He tried to reply but only a choked sob came out.

“Oh—Q, I’m sorry, okay, shh,” Eliot said, tightening his grip around Quentin and pulling him to his chest again. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Breathe, it’ll be okay.”

Quentin didn’t believe it, but he let the words sink in anyway. Something about being in Eliot’s arms made them feel like they could almost be true.


	22. Scenes from the Apocalypse Party: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, like, the plot is coming in another chapter or two. These characters deserve a real break before all the nonsense starts to go down.  
> I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry, actually. This section is self-indulgent and we're accepting that. Cool? Cool.

Margo Hanson knew a lot of things. She knew that she was a badass, she knew that she scared people, and she knew that she could do more than what was expected of her. She knew how people saw her—bitchy and vapid, maybe a little dumb. Luckily, she also knew they were very, very wrong about her.

She also knew that if there was something major going on—some grand adventure, some dangerous quest—she should absolutely be involved. Honestly, would they have a chance without her?

And now, she also knew that Fillory was real.

She’d never _admit_ to being a nerdy kid. She preferred when people knew only her armor—knew only her intimidating, cool air. She liked how people looked at her when they were afraid.

But. She _had_ been a nerdy kid, into fantasy and magic and quests. She had those books of Greek myths, and fairies, and monsters. And she’d look through them under her covers with a flashlight, until dawn. Her father would read her fairytales and change the endings for her, so she was always the hero.

Really, he should’ve expected her to want to _become_ the hero. It had been him who’d told her that she could.

So maybe she’d inserted herself into the story, as it unraveled around her friends. It was Quentin’s story and it was Eliot’s story, this grand time travel romance, with a fantasy twist. Q going back in time and saving the man he loved, Eliot being swept off his feet by a stranger who already loved him.

A little nauseating, frankly. Margo didn’t care for romances.

But she _did_ care for grand adventures. And if Fillory needed saving, she was _going_ to be a part of the story. She was going to be the fucking protagonist, the goddamn hero.

And anyways, if she didn’t insert herself into the story, how was she going to carve out her place in it? No one else was going to coax her into it. She, as always, had to _make_ it hers.

She used to pretend to be ambassador to the Fillorian Outer Islands. She used to pretend to be Jane Chatwin. Alone in her sprawling backyard, the one tree with branches low enough to climb was her castle.

Quentin wore his nerdy heart on his sleeve, and Margo concealed hers in her armor. But it was there. And she wanted a place in the story, too.

There was another thing Margo knew, too. She knew that if you were going to go on a dangerous quest, life-threatening and exciting, you better have one hell of a fucking party before you left.

People learned fast that they couldn’t say no to Margo when she made these kinds of decisions. So everyone involved was going to be there, knowing what the party was for, and the rest of the school was _also_ going to be there, aware only that this party was even better than usual.

The party was apocalypse-themed, because Margo did so love a good theme. The End of the World Party—the rest of the students didn’t understand _why_ this was the theme, but they got the gist of it. Wear your best, prepare your final confessions and vows, drink like there was no tomorrow.

She was only really friends with Eliot and Quentin, and she knew Alice and Kady in passing because they were Physical Kids, and Julia and Penny were kind of at acquaintance they-came-with-Q-so-she-tolerated-them level. But alas, being on an epic quest called for fast bonding, and there was nothing like a we-might-die-soon party to get the bonding going.

She’d managed to rope Quentin into helping her prepare for the party, though she was sure they were both aware it was a contrived reason. They didn’t so much _prepare_ for parties at the Cottage as they did design the Cottage to be ready for a party at a moment’s notice.

But she sat up on the counter as Quentin washed the large punch bowls. Sans-magic, because sometimes, you just had to do things by hand to make sure they were done right.  

“So about Fillory—” she said, feeling remarkably unashamed of the awe in her tone. This was Q, after all. She didn’t quite feel like fronts were as necessary, when he was always so earnest about what he loved. She felt, remarkably, like she could let her guard down around him. “What’s it like?”

Q paused as the water ran over his hand.

“It’s… got opium in the air.”

Margo stared at him. “Fucking what?”

He shot her a slight smile. “Yeah. Kind of an unfair way to make you love a place, right?”

“So does that mean after we go, we’ll fail drug tests?”

“You know, I’ve never thought about that.”

“These are things you should be considering, Coldwater.”

Quentin laughed. “Guess I had other things on my mind.”

She ruffled his hair, making it fall in his eyes. He shot her a glare as he tried to blow it out of his face, his hands still occupied in the sink.

“So did we become kings and queens?” Margo said, aiming for casual.

Quentin looked at her, an unfamiliar glint in his eye. “Yeah,” he said, his voice mild. “You more than any of us.”

She wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she did like the sound of it.

“Did I look badass in the crown?” she asked, grinning.

“You know you did,” he replied, flicking some water at her.

\---

Fondly, Kady watched as Alice tried to take a sip of her drink and choked, cringing. The party was just in the beginning stages, with people mostly-sober starting their first drinks, and many people yet to arrive. It was still largely just the people who already lived in the Cottage and therefor only had to leave their rooms.

She had to admit to liking Margo for this idea. It was nice, to relax like this, to have an excuse to. Especially after the stress of confronting their mothers. Kady needed _several_ drinks after listening to Stephanie’s insufferable condescension.

“You don’t drink much, hm?” Kady said, making a point to take a long sip of her whiskey and not react to the burn. She grinned leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

Alice frowned. “Show off. And no, okay? I never really… I never really went to parties. Before. Or bars.”

“Never raided your parents’ liquor cabinet either?”

She scoffed, shooting Kady a sidelong glance. “Yeah, right. Whoever touched Stephanie’s wine would die a slow, painful death.”

Kady snorted. “Meanwhile, Hannah shared her alcohol with me when I was a teenager.” She glanced at Alice’s glass. “Y’know, I can take your whiskey and get you one of the mixed drinks.”

Alice looked down hesitantly, her cheeks reddening just a little. “That might be better,” she mumbled.

Kady rolled her eyes and laughed. She took Alice’s glass and poured the whiskey in with her own. “You seem like a Cosmopolitan girl.” She got to her feet, offering a hand to Alice.

Alice let herself be helped up, reddening even more and avoiding eye contact. _Interesting,_ Kady thought, letting her hand linger against Alice’s before pulling it away.

Alice cleared her throat. “Isn’t that what they drink on _Sex and the City_? I feel like I should be offended.”

Kady shrugged. “I can also make a pretty good mojito. What’ll it be?”

Sheepishly, Alice glanced at her. “Which one is sweeter?”

Of _course_ Alice would want the sweeter one. Kady had seen the girl putting sugar in her coffee before. It was a truly nauseating amount. Kady chuckled, putting her hand on Alice’s lower back to lead her towards the bar.

The bar was, miraculously, open. Kady pulled her hair up into a ponytail, pretending not to notice the way Alice was staring at her.

_Cute—_ Alice could be so _easy_ to impress sometimes. For a girl so smart and seemingly collected, she was pretty easy to fluster. Kady barely had to _try._ Not like Kady usually had to try that hard—she just figured Alice required _some_ effort. But no, all Kady had to do was say a single flirty comment and shoot her a single cocky smile or raised eyebrow and Alice was stammering and avoiding eye contact.

So Kady didn’t even look up as she prepared Alice’s mojito with maybe more flourish than was _strictly_ necessary—what? Eliot wasn’t the _only_ one in the Cottage who could play that game.

She finally met Alice’s gaze as she added the mint sprigs for garnish. Kady didn’t want to admit quite how satisfying Alice’s wide-eyed stare was. It’s not like it meant anything anyway.

She slid the glass over to Alice. “Sweet enough?”

Alice took a tentative sip. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Kady replied nonchalantly.

Alice ran a finger through the condensation on the glass. “You know, it kind of feels like we should still be working. Like we don’t have the time for this.”

“It’s one night,” Kady replied. “Besides, the ambrosia mixture needs to sit for twelve hours, so it’s not like we have anything to do yet.”

“We could be looking at alternatives,” Alice said. “Looking into the plants we didn’t find. Figuring out back-ups and contingency plans. Or—”

“Or, more likely,” Kady interjected, “staring at the ambrosia, waiting for it to be ready.”

Alice pressed her lips together. “Are we _really_ sure that coating the bars with ambrosia will even work? I mean, the notebook _said_ it would, but it’s not like it’s that reliable a source, and we don’t even know who—”

“It’s magic, we can’t be sure anything works until it does.”

“I just don’t like not knowing for sure.”

Kady leaned over the bar and ran a finger down a lock of Alice’s hair. Alice stilled, her posture straightening. “Oh, I know,” Kady said. “But sometimes, you’ve just gotta take the shot, right?”

“I’d rather know the outcome,” Alice replied, glancing up into Kady’s eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kady said. She leaned in just a little more.

\---

As much as Penny wanted to enjoy the party Margo had thrown, he was having a surprisingly difficult time.

He kept finding himself trying to keep an eye on Quentin, of all people. After Quentin’s panic attack, they hadn’t gotten to talk much. They certainly hadn’t gotten to talk much about their plans, about Fillory, about the Beast. He and Julia had given Q some space, at Q’s request.

But damn, that kid’s anxieties were contagious.

It’s not that Penny was _always_ as cool and collected as he liked to pretend he was. But he usually wasn’t stressing about things so far out of his control.

But there was that twinge of concern, that flicker of empathy. Quentin could be annoying. And Quentin could be kind of dumb. But he was a good guy, ultimately. And Penny respected how much he _cared,_ even if he found it a little insufferable sometimes. Even if it was inconvenient and frustrating. The fact of the matter was that Quentin was a good person. And Penny didn’t want to admit it, but he kind of liked the guy.

Which he would never, under any circumstances ever, tell Quentin.

Penny understood the fear of not belonging, but he couldn’t quite grapple with how it must be manifesting for Quentin. Because, yeah, he never knew any other version of Quentin. To him, this _was_ the Quentin from this timeline. For all intents and purposes, this version of Quentin was the only version that ever lived in Timeline 9. Penny couldn’t—didn’t _want_ to—imagine some other Quentin replacing him.

But to Quentin…

Did this place feel like home to him? Would he _want_ to go back, once he’d calmed down and thought it through? What would they be left with here?

Penny felt, well, weird about the whole fucking thing.

It had caught him off guard how much it turned out he cared. And it wasn’t just that this was Julia’s best friend, and he was maybe-sort-of-possibly falling in love with her. It was that they were _friends,_ all three of them _._

Penny wasn’t used to any sort of permanence in his life, in terms of location or people. He wanted to be used to it, though. He wanted to be able to trust that people would be around for a long time. And honestly, he kind of wanted Julia and Quentin to _be_ those people.

And once all this was over…

What was going to happen?

Penny shook his head, taking a swig of his beer. His own issues aside, Quentin had _freaked_ the other day. Like. Hyperventilating, wide-eyed, sweating, shaking. It had, honestly, kind of scared Penny, too.

So here he was, trying to watch Quentin for any signs of meltdowns.

He should really _talk_ to Quentin, but Penny wasn’t too good at the whole talking thing. He’d constructed the aloofness enough that real honest conversations felt just a little foreign.

Quentin’s anxiety was practically drifting off of him as he ducked out of the main room.

Penny stifled a sigh.

“Quentin,” he hissed, following him into the kitchen.

Quentin turned, looking confused. “Huh?”

“I just wanted to—” Penny let out a short, exasperated laugh. “Look. After the other day, man—”

“I’m fine,” Quentin said quickly.

Penny raised an eyebrow. “You’re not.”

“Whatever, okay, I’m not. What does it matter?”

Penny clenched his jaw. _Idiot._

“We can’t afford for your head to not be clear, man,” Penny said sharply. Because what else was he supposed to say? _I’m worried about you and you’re clearly dealing with a lot and I want to help?_ Yeah fucking right. Pretending there were ulterior reasons was easier.

But Quentin softened like he could see right through Penny anyway.

Penny let out a heavy breath, looking away. “What happened? In your timeline?” he asked. “Why would you need to go back?”

“There’s no short answer to that,” Quentin replied quietly.

_Fuck._ “Look—okay, I just want you to know. Whatever you wanna do, man,” Penny started, finding it hard to form the words, “we’ll figure it out. If you wanna go back, I’ll help, alright? But if you wanna stay… We can figure that out, too.”

Quentin was silent for a few long moments. Penny looked up, and Quentin was studying his face, brow furrowed like he was trying to sort something out in his mind.

“Thanks, Penny,” he finally said, his tone serious and sincere.

“Whatever,” Penny said, trying to wave it off.

Quentin cracked a smile. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone you have feelings.”

Penny shot him a glare. “Man, shut the fuck up.”  

\---

Julia found herself feeling surprisingly out of place at the Physical Cottage party.

She very rarely felt like an outsider in a crowd—one of Julia’s natural talents was finding the people who seemed like _they_ felt like outsiders and bringing them into the fold. She always loved to make people feel welcome.

Being the person hovering in the corner was not a very familiar experience. She’d seen Quentin be that person over and over again, at basically every party they ever went to.

Here, she basically only knew Quentin and Penny, with just a vague understanding of who everyone else was. And Penny and Quentin were nowhere to be found. Julia almost _felt_ like she knew Eliot, because of how often Quentin casually mentioned him, but Eliot wasn’t anywhere either.

Which was how Julia found herself here, hanging by the bar as the sangria dwindled.

“How does this already need a refill?” Margo said, walking over and glaring into the large punch bowl.

“It’s really good,” Julia said, raising her own mostly-empty glass.

Margo sighed theatrically. “And Eliot isn’t even here to make the next bowl,” she said, tapping her manicured fingers against the bar. “Well. I guess it’s up to us.”

“Us?” Julia replied.

Margo shot her a look. “What, are you standing there waiting to be served?” she said. “Come on, I’m recruiting you for alcohol duty. Someone’s gotta fucking do it, and I’m not about to trust Q or Todd, alright?”

“Is there a spell we have to do?” Julia asked.

“Oh, you sweet little Knowledge student,” Margo said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “This is why no one goes to your parties.”

“We don’t throw any,” Julia replied flatly. It was true; living above the library did not lend itself to having parties.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Margo said breezily, waving a hand. “The _point_ is, no, no magic in the art of drink making. Eliot’s rule. It’s the principle of the thing. We have to do this old-school, as tradition dictates.”

“I don’t understand why,” Julia said.

Margo shot her a glare. “Just get the fucking wine, okay? It is _unacceptable_ to run out of the main alcohol at a party. We have a reputation to maintain here.”

Julia raised her hands in defeat, her lips quirking up in a smile. “Alright, alright. Where’s the wine?”

“Bottom cabinet, on the left. The _red_ wine, not the white.”

She tried not to roll her eyes at that. The cabinets were surprisingly well organized—she’d half expected them to be a complete mess, like much of the Physical Cottage was.

“Great,” Margo said brusquely, taking the bottles from Julia’s hands when she leaned back up. She gestured towards the bowl of fruit on the bar. “Now cut those strawberries and peaches, evenly as you can.”

“Can’t I use magic for that one?” Julia asked.

Margo narrowed her eyes. “No magic means no magic. That’s the rule, babe. Now come on, get to it.”

“I don’t actually take orders from you,” Julia replied, already moving towards the cutting board and picking up the knife.

A small, light laugh escaped Margo’s lips. She shot Julia a smile. “Oh, sweetheart. Everyone takes orders from me.”

Julia _did_ roll her eyes at that, but she smiled. She was feeling a little less out of place, at least.

\---

There was something so laughably, painfully ironic about this whole situation. Because Eliot was used to feeling inadequate—not _enough_ for someone, never _enough._ What else was new?

The laughable part came in when he felt inadequate as compared to, well, _himself._ Because Quentin wasn’t in love with _him—_ Quentin was in love with some more evolved, more emotionally mature version of him. Some other man with his face and his eyes, some other man who would never hurt Quentin the way _he_ might. Some other man who wouldn’t run away.

It was…

A strange experience, to say the least. He felt like an imposter whenever Quentin looked at him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t _want_ to be good enough. If he didn’t want to _be enough_. If he was just happy with the vague, impersonal admiration, the way he usually was. If this didn’t _mean_ something to him.

But how could he be enough here? He didn’t know what experiences Quentin and the other him had shared. What things they’d went through that made them so close. All he knew was the immediate connection he’d felt with Quentin, that initial attraction that had drawn him in.

And now, all he knew was that he would never measure up to whatever Quentin wanted from him.

It was worse, really, than all those misguided first-year boys who fell in love with the façade and were left hurt and disappointed. Because Quentin loved something deeper, something more, something beyond the façade. Something that Eliot could never truly be.

And God, it was startling how much that hurt.

_It wasn’t you._ That was what Quentin had said.

And what Eliot had heard—

_You aren’t who I want you to be._

And he never would be, would he? He’d never be the man that Quentin wanted. Not really. 

Quentin coming to Eliot for comfort must have felt so _empty_ to him, so disappointing—some echo of who he _really_ wanted to be there with him. Some halfway meaningless consolation prize.

It was like being slapped in the face, like a blow to the chest.

Eliot barely knew what to do with these tangled, confusing feelings.

He leaned back in his desk chair, stretching his legs in front of him and staring out the window. He could hear the noises from the party downstairs. He’d already locked the door with a charm, but he added another one.

All he’d really wanted was for his life to be simple. He’d finally, _finally,_ left his nightmare of a family, finally gotten out of that hell in Indiana, finally found somewhere he thought he could belong. Finally gotten somewhere new, somewhere he could try out this new version of himself.

Somewhere no one knew where he came from, or who he was, or what he’d been through. He could make his life simple. He could be vapid, and selfish, and shallow. He didn’t have to touch the complexities lurking beneath.

It had almost worked, for a while. Save for Margo, no one knew there was more to him than the snide, pretentious, judgmental Physical Kid who made great drinks and threw great parties. No one _had_ to know there was more to him than that. They only saw what he wanted them to see, and that was plenty for him.

And then Quentin Coldwater showed up and dismantled his plans.

This stranger—this cute, nerdy stranger, kind and easily flustered… Eliot had liked him instantly, in the distant way that Eliot chooses to develop crushes at the beginning of the year to keep things interesting.

But, just like there was more to Eliot than what he showed, there was more to Quentin than what people saw.

Eliot didn’t know exactly when his crush on the new cute high-strung first-year turned into actual feelings for Quentin. It was hard to pinpoint a moment, exactly. And all the new context only served to make all his feelings more complicated anyway.

And it was _strange,_ to have gone from believing he had something real with Mike and having the rug torn violently from under him all the way to believing he had something shallow for Quentin and being struck with this confusing _real_ thing between them that he didn’t know how to sort through.

Honestly, it almost felt like a love triangle. With him and Quentin and some other, better version of him. It was _exhausting._

And now, ever since Quentin had shown up at his door, looking like a kitten caught in the rain with those wide, sad eyes, Eliot had felt…

Well. He didn’t know how he felt.

And he supposed it didn’t really matter, did it? He’d never measure up to Quentin’s expectations. He could never be _enough._


	23. Scenes from the Apocalypse Party: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I got too overwhelmed to respond to comments again. You're all so kind and I'm so touched and I cannot express how excited it makes me to read your reactions. Thank you.

Todd was yelling loudly about taking Jell-O shots, which was precisely the moment that Quentin realized it wasn’t just that he, personally, didn’t know where Eliot was—Eliot was probably off hiding from the party, the way he did when he lacked the energy for the bravado and the persona.

Quentin didn’t blame him. He agreed with Margo’s premise—the idea of a We Might Die Soon party was appealing. In practice, however, the music was loud and Quentin’s nerves were through the roof and he’d already gotten beer spilled on him twice.

He couldn’t even drink, really, so he was excruciatingly sober throughout the whole thing.

The sangria _had_ looked appealing, until Margo had _knowingly_ told him the name of the wine and he had to bolt to avoid _that_ conversation.

He considered where he could find Eliot—upstairs, maybe. He thought outside might be a better bet—there was that corner of the garden where they’d smoked sometimes, where people rarely wandered during parties, since they mostly kept to the patio.

The crowd he’d have to get through in order to get to the back door was just a little daunting.

He was just about to starts the horrifyingly awkward _um sorry excuse me_ dance of weaving through drunk people when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Quentin,” Alice said hesitantly, pulling him into a corner, out of the crowd. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He looked at her, apprehensive. She had that _look_ on her face, the one that had always made him just a little nervous.

“So when you brought someone back from being a niffin…” she said slowly. “That was in your timeline?”

_Oh_.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you, um—” she started. She cut off, looking away.

“You want to know if it was someone you know,” he said. It’s not that he wasn’t expecting this conversation eventually—just that he was hoping to avoid it.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Also what, um, happened. How she was different. I want to be prepared for Charlie.”

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. _Well, here goes._

“It was you.”

Alice stiffened. “I’m sorry, what?”

“That’s what went wrong in my timeline,” he said quietly. “We defeated the Beast, but at a cost. You turned into a niffin.”

“Me?” Alice said, her voice small and her eyes wide. Her eyes were so blue in the colored lights, he could nearly see the niffin-glint in them.

“You sacrificed yourself. You were a niffin for a while before I figured out how to bring you back.”

She glanced away, her lip twitching like she wanted to say something. “Why would you do that for me?” she settled on slowly.

Their history weighed on him. He would’ve done anything for her. He’d nearly died because of it.

“We were… close. In my timeline.”

She took a step away from him. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Close… Like—”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

She paused, frowning like she was solving a math problem in her head. “You said… The person you brought back, you said… You said they hated you for it.”

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a sigh. “My Alice—well, Alice 40, I mean, she, um. She didn’t want to be saved. I don’t really—well, we didn’t talk much about her time as a niffin. But she was sort of, um, disgusted by the prospect of being human. For a while. She was… Really different. When she came back. I think she felt trapped. In a human body.”

“I didn’t—” Alice started. “Well. I didn’t really think about how… How that might feel.”

Quentin shook his head. “No, neither did I.”

“Was she happy? Eventually, I mean. Did she come around? Was she happy that you brought her back, in the end?”

Quentin smiled sadly. “I don’t really know. I never got the chance to ask her.”

She hesitated, meeting his gaze. She was looking at him in a completely unfamiliar way. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then again, there had been so much he’d never understood about Alice Quinn.

“For what it’s worth,” she said softly. “I’d be grateful for it. As I am now, anyway. I wouldn’t want to have been stuck a niffin forever.”

He inhaled steadily, feeling an uncoiling, a loosening in his many anxieties. Hearing that was something like relief. After Alice had returned, and hated him, and looked at him with contempt and judgment in her eyes, after they had been so lost, their relationship torn to shreds, their friendship barely salvageable…

Just knowing. That maybe what he did, selfish as he’d been, wasn’t wholly wrong.

This wasn’t his Alice. But it _was_ Alice, telling him, for once, that what he did was okay.

“It’s worth more than you know,” he said, managing to not let his voice break.

She smiled a little. “I kind of thought you hated me, you know. Because you were so weird around me.”

Quentin shook his head. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

“I see that now.”

“I never know how to act.”

She laughed. “I see that, too.”

Quentin felt like he could breathe a little easier. Maybe he and Alice could actually be friends. They’d never quite managed that part, really. They’d fallen together into this confusing mess, and then it had only ever gotten worse.

He’d loved her, once. But he wondered if he’d ever really known her.

But this timeline, as always, could be different. New beginnings, second chances, all that.

“I’ll help,” Quentin said quietly, deciding. “With Charlie. After all this. If you still want me to.”

Alice let out a small breath, drawing her eyebrows together. “You will?” she said, her voice small and hopeful.

He nodded.

He’d never regret bringing his Alice back. He’d do it again. And he knew how much Alice loved Charlie.

“Thanks,” she said. A little awkwardly, she stepped forward, giving him a short, stiff hug.

It was clumsy, and a little forced, but…

God, he’d missed having Alice in his life. Any version.

\---

Julia was sitting on the back porch stairs, looking at the stars, feeling warm from the sangria.

_Fillory._

It was _real._ All her childhood dreams seemed to be coming true, if it wasn’t fully what she pictured. The fact that Fillory was not the beautiful paradise she’d wanted it to be was a little heartbreaking, but the idea that _she_ was going to be a part of the quest to save it was pretty amazing.

Like her life made narrative sense. Like threads of childhood dreams came back like foreshadowing and she would get to fulfill promises she’d made when she was playing pretend as Jane Chatwin becoming queen.

“Hiding from the party?” Penny’s voice said behind her.

She glanced up, smiling. He took a seat beside her, stretching his legs out on the stairs.

“Just thinking about how my life got to this point,” she said.

“It’ll all work out,” he said.

“I’m certain,” she replied.

He laughed. “You are? Because I was bullshitting.”

She shot him a wry smile. “We’ve got it handled.”

Penny raised his eyebrows. He let out a breath and shook his head. “If you say so, Wicker.”

She looked back up at the stars. She understood his doubts. She understood _everyone’s_ doubts. They were facing something strange and major and confusing. And they were trying to solve a problem that had already ended, trying to save a kid that was older than them, a kid that essentially died years before they’d even been born.

It was all kinds of insane that _any_ of them could believe that it would turn out okay.

But Julia _did._ She believed.

She’d stopped believing in Fillory, in magic, somewhere along the way. She’d told herself she needed to grow up. She’d _been_ told that she needed to grow up. And so she did, she gave away her stuffed animals and hid her Fillory things in the back of the closet.

She thought that was what it meant to get older. Letting go of childish notions of magic and fairytales. She thought that she was right, and that Quentin was wrong, and that they needed to face the harsh reality of their lives. That they needed to face the bleakness of a world with no magic.

But, no matter what else was true, no matter what horrific things existed or what monsters were lurking, Julia had been _wrong_ about letting go of her childish belief in magic, and that meant something else, too.

If magic was real, so was hope, and so was beauty, and so were happy endings. It was all real.

Maybe Julia was getting a little caught up in it all, here under the stars, already pretty tipsy, but there was something she knew about stories.

The good guys won.

And they were the good guys. They were the heroes.

They were going to win because sometimes, things turned out the way they _should,_ the way they were supposed to. Sometimes, the stars aligned, and the universe was fair and good people trying their best won in the end.

“Magic is real,” was the only way she could think to sum it up. “We’ll win.”

She glanced over, seeing the soft, gentle way Penny was looking at her.

“I’ve always known magic was real,” he said. “Just never gave me any hope.”

From what she knew of his life, it made sense. If all you knew about magic was the crippling noise of people’s thoughts screaming in your head, if all you knew about magic was the spells some strange voice told you, if all you knew about magic was what you had to medicate away in order to stay sane…

Well. It wasn’t quite as _magical_ as what Julia’s understanding had been.

She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Feeling warm, and calm, and safe.

“We can change that,” she said. _I can change that,_ she didn’t say.

His breath seemed to catch as she relaxed against him.

“You know what, Wicker?” he said softly. “That, I believe.”

\---

Absently, Eliot considered adding a third locking charm to the door, when someone began to pound on it.

“Eliot, don’t tell me you’re hiding up here,” Margo called. “Grow some goddamn tits and come downstairs, the party is _boring_ without you.”

“You’re interrupting my melancholy gaze out the window into the night, Bambi,” Eliot sighed back.

“Jesus, El, you’re so dramatic.” He heard the door shake. “Did you fucking lock the door? Dick.”

It did not take her long to break through the charms. They were more symbolic, really.

She barged in, slamming the door behind her.

“Okay, well, Q didn’t react to the sangria,” she said, collapsing heavily onto his bed.

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t until I told him the name of the wine that he started blushing,” she said, smirking. “He was all flustered and stammering—adorable, really. Like _oh, so, um, El told you, I guess?_ It was quite sweet.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Surprised he’s at the party at all.”

Margo shrugged. “I told you everyone would be. The last weekend before we all have to go on a fucking fantasy quest, I insisted. They’re all downstairs. Which means _you_ should be.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“This does mean we still don’t know what alcohol was involved in the threesome,” Margo went on.

Eliot waved a hand vaguely. “Mysteries abound.”

“I just want to know so I can have a go-to,” she said. “Like a fucking magic spell for when you meet a hot couple you wanna bang.”

“Rather, a magic fucking spell, you mean.” He shot her a wry smile. “Got someone in mind, do you?”

“ _No._ I just like to be prepared. Though I wouldn’t kick Julia and Penny out of bed.” She tilted her head. “So what are you doing hiding up here in your melancholy, anyway?”

Eliot sighed, looking back out the window. He felt he’d earned the right to be a _little_ dramatic about the whole thing. It was, after all, completely absurd.

“Quentin?” Margo guessed.

“I’m not who he wants, Bambi,” Eliot said. It was, frankly, still kind of surprising how much that affected him. He was never who anyone _wanted_ , why did it matter so much this time?

Margo, irritatingly, _laughed._ “That’s just total bullshit, El. That boy is so disgustingly into you.”

Eliot shot her an unamused glance. “No, he wants some other mythic version of me. The me he shares memories with.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _That’s_ what you’re up here moping about?”

“I appreciate your sympathy,” Eliot said dryly.

Margo scoffed. “What, you want me to say _there, there, poor baby?_ I love you, El, but Jesus. Go _talk_ to Quentin if it’s fucking you up like this. Just _ask_ him about the memories.”

“It’s not that simple, though, is it?” he replied. Because it wasn’t, really.

“Well, I don’t fucking know,” she said, sounding exasperated. “And neither do you. We don’t have precedent for this. Maybe it _is_ that simple.”

Eliot sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know why I _care,”_ he said, irritated with himself.

Margo seemed to soften at that. “I get it. Q’s special.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Eliot half-grumbled. “The bastard.”

She let out a laugh. “El, you get that you’re being ridiculous, right?”

Eliot gestured vaguely. “I don’t know! The whole thing is fucking ridiculous, I’m just matching the narrative.”

“What do you _want_ from him, Eliot?” Margo said, as though it were simple.

He clenched his jaw.

He didn’t know what he fucking _wanted._

He wanted…

Well. He wanted to _know_. He wanted to know in what life, in what strange turn of events, he could deserve the way that Quentin looked at him. He wanted to know what world could exist where he would _deserve_ Quentin Coldwater.

He wanted to know what he _was_ to Quentin. Was he some shadow of the love of Quentin’s life? Was he an imperfect copy? Had he just not yet become the man that Quentin knew?

He wanted to know—know what they could’ve been to each other, in that other life. He wanted to know what he could’ve had.

Honestly, it was a little masochistic. Eliot wanted to be told the story. Whatever epic romance existed for a version of him that he would never be. He wanted to hear the love story he could’ve gotten, in some other life. Knowing that it would never happen here.

More selfishly, he just wanted Quentin the way he’d wanted Quentin for a while now.

Eliot didn’t want to admit how much he felt. How deeply, how authentically.

But how could he not? Sweet, kind, sad, earnest Quentin. How could he _not_ fall in—

_Fucking nope, not even thinking the words, no, can’t acknowledge them, honestly, fuck that—_

“Hm, I know what I want in _general,”_ Eliot said breezily. “I want some of that sangria I made. Can’t _believe_ I haven’t even gotten a glass of it.”

“Oh, it’s gone,” Margo said. “Julia and I had to make the refill, since you were oh-so-busy up here.”

Eliot put a hand to his chest. “How wildly unfair. I have to get the subpar seconds?”

“Fuck you, I made it _perfectly,”_ Margo said, kicking his ankle lightly. “And no complaining. If you’d just _been_ there, you could’ve done it yourself.”

He sighed, pulling himself to his feet. “Well. I guess I’ll give your attempt a _chance,_ but I can’t fathom how it could measure up to mine.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Margo replied, rolling her eyes. She held his hand and dragged him out the door.

\---

Quentin was still trying to get a minute to breathe, a minute to hide—it was difficult to get through the crowd, to the door to the patio, to the corner of the garden where he and Eliot used to smoke and laugh and talk—

He was almost to the door when Julia grabbed him by the elbow and tugged him off to the side.

“Um, hey?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t act surprised,” she said. She crossed her arms. “We need to talk, Q. We haven’t gotten much of a chance to, since—"

“We don’t really have the time,” Quentin interrupted. She knew him well, and he didn’t want to deal with it right now. Not here, in the flashing lights and the crowd and the loud music.

Julia gave him a look. “We have _exactly_ enough time for me to make sure you’re doing alright.”

“Does it really matter?” Quentin replied, the words coming out a little too fast. “We—I mean, we have to do all this either way so I really don’t think it’s all that relevant whether—”

“It’s _relevant_ ,” Julia said. “Because what we’re doing, it’s going to be dangerous.”

Quentin stifled a sigh. “I’m hanging on, Julia. Okay?”

“At the Secrets Trial, you _said_ —”

“Can we not do this right now? Please?”

“I’m worried about you. Okay? I _get_ to be worried about you.” She gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You forget I _know_ you, Quentin. I know you want to avoid talking about it, and I know you would rather push it away, but you can’t. And I know you know that, too.”

He pressed his lips together, feeling frustrated. “Look, I just. I’m fine. I’ll _be_ fine. We can—we can handle all my bullshit later, okay, I just don’t want—”

“Q, this is _important,”_ she said, her voice low and insistent. “I love you, and after—look. Okay. What you said at the Secrets Trial, and your panic attack the other day… Q, you can’t expect me to not check in on you. When you were sixteen—”

“I’m not sixteen anymore. I can handle myself.”

Her gaze softened. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

“Jules, it’ll—it’ll be fine. I get it, okay, I _know._ I know. But right now, I don’t have space for all of my—” He cut off, gesturing vaguely.

“Make space for it, Quentin,” Julia said firmly. “Talk to me.”

He shut his eyes tightly, taking a breath.

_Alice turning into a niffin. The Beast cutting off Penny’s hands. Julia losing her Shade. Eliot getting possessed. Losing magic. Touching the depression key, leaning over the side of a ship and staring into a deep, black ocean—_

“What if something goes wrong?” Quentin’s voice came out small and strained. “What if someone gets hurt again, because of me? Jules, I don’t know that I can go through any of that again. Things got so fucked up. I can’t—I don’t want—God, Julia, I brought everyone into this _again,_ knowing what might happen. What probably _will_ happen.”

Julia slipped her hand into his, squeezing slightly. “Q, hey, no,” she said. “We all know what we’re doing, we know the risks.”

“Everything is a fucking mess where I come from,” Quentin went on. “How am I supposed to live with it? If something like that happens here, too?”

Julia studied his face, furrowed brow, kind eyes. She let out a soft sigh, leaning up to hug him, her arms around his shoulders. She ran a hand over his hair, stroking gently.

“Everything will be okay,” she said, her voice soothing. “And if it isn’t, it won’t be your fault, okay? At the risk of sounding like your favorite guilty pleasure, we’re all in this together.”

Quentin, surprising himself, laughed as he settled into her arms. “Hey, that was _your_ guilty pleasure.”

“Q, we both loved _High School Musical_ and you know it.”

“Oh, no, I know, but it was never a _guilty_ pleasure for me. I embraced it. It’s not my fault Corbin Bleu and Vanessa Hudgens look like _that_.”

\---

Alice was starting to feel pretty loose and giggly.

She was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her.

Kady was on her fourth drink and Alice was on her second, but Kady didn’t seem at all different.

Alice, meanwhile…

“So, it’s like, she _totally_ overreacted right?” she was in the middle on rambling. “I mean, it was _one_ lipstick, and I was _eight,_ and kids try on their parents’ makeup, you know? And she still brings it up—like _remember that one time you ruined my favorite lipstick—_ and it wasn’t even that _expensive_ or anything, she just, like, she wouldn’t let it go—”

She cut herself off, face heating up as she realized how long she’d been talking. She took another long sip of her sugary drink.

“No, feel free to keep going,” Kady said. “Riveting stuff.”

Alice shot her a quick glare. “You’re making fun of me.”

Kady grinned. “You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not _drunk—”_

“Oh?”

“—I’m just, I dunno, tipsy, or—or buzzed… Buzzed, is that the word? I feel like there’s a different word…”

“Oh, there are lots of words.”

“Buzzed doesn’t seem right—I don’t know, I’m trying to think—”

“Honestly, Alice, are you seriously trying to find the right vocabulary for how intoxicated you are?”

Alice paused, scrunching up her nose. “Maybe?” she said, a little sheepish.

Kady laughed. “Jesus Christ.”

_Kady’s laugh._ Alice found herself smiling without thinking, without trying to control her expression. Alice tended to not show her teeth when she smiled—something her mother had said once, about how she looked better with her lips closed. But Kady’s laugh—

Well, Alice was probably grinning a little more than she wanted to be. She liked that sound.

\---

Quentin ended up chain-smoking outside to avoid everyone, in the corner he’d been hoping to find Eliot.

It had been empty, but it least it gave him some time to himself.

It was nice of Penny and Julia to be concerned. Really, it was. But it also made Quentin want to hide a little bit. He was tired, and stressed, and every few seconds, he was hit with more flashes of things that had gone wrong that he would need to prevent.

And what they were doing here, trying to save Martin, it was so beyond what Quentin had knowledge of. Knowing what was going to happen, or what could go wrong, because he’d already lived through all this—that was awful. Not knowing? Worse, somehow. He couldn’t fathom the ways they could get fucked this time.

He’d never seen Alice’s betrayal with the keys coming. Or Eliot shooting the monster. Or Dean Fogg erasing their identities and sending them out into the world. It had all been so out of left field—and Quentin didn’t want to have to deal with whatever _else_ could go wrong.

He _needed_ everything to be okay. Just this once.

_Just this once, everybody lives,_ he kept telling himself, like it would really help.

“You know, this is where I come to avoid the crowd,” Eliot’s voice said behind him. “You’re stealing my hiding spot.”

Quentin glanced over, laughed a little. Remembering.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who showed it to me,” he said, before realizing. _Shit._ He thought about Eliot’s vitriol, the contempt when he said that the him Quentin had known wasn’t _him._ Quentin swallowed, looking down. He wasn’t being fair to Eliot, _this_ Eliot. “Wait, sorry. I’m sorry. I know you said… I know it wasn’t you.”

Eliot’s hesitant smile faltered. “Mm. Right. It was my timeline doppelganger.”

Quentin offered a crooked smile. “Sorry,” he said again. He didn’t want to make Eliot uncomfortable. His feelings were his _own_ problem, not Eliot’s.

Despite his best efforts, Eliot _did_ seem uncomfortable.

“Q, I—” Eliot started, somewhat awkwardly.

Quentin looked at him, furrowing his brow. There seemed to be something… He couldn’t quite place it.

Eliot dropped his gaze.

“So. Apocalypse party. Margo’s themes are always quite the hit.” He glanced up again, half a smile. “I wonder how many people are using it as an excuse for some end-of-the-world confessions.”

Quentin snorted. “More likely, some end-of-the-world sex.”

“Ah, yes. A classic, of course.”

They settled into a not-quite-comfortable silence as they smoked—not quite the soothing silence shared between people who’d spent a lifetime together. Not quite the comfort of years spent by each other’s sides. More like the tentative silence of friends who had a confusing weight between them.

Strange, it was all so strange.

Quentin kept glancing over at Eliot, studying his profile, the stubble on his cheeks, the curve of his eyebrows. Each detail, so painfully familiar.

At some point, Eliot glanced back, catch Quentin staring.

Quentin dropped his gaze away, his cheeks feeling hot.

Eliot cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

“Can I…” he started. “Can I ask more about your timeline?”

_Well._ Quentin couldn’t really say no, though the temptation was there. “Sure. Anything.”

“Your version of me. What was he like?”

Quentin frowned. That was a… complicated question.

He offered Eliot an amused smile. “Well, you know, he was a lot like you.”

“Ha, ha. Really, though.” Eliot looked at the ground.

Quentin stifled a sigh. There was no way to explain it. How they were the same person, how they were different. How every version of Quentin loved every version of Eliot, and how at the same time, each iteration existed in a space wholly their own.

“I mean. Okay. So, um. The timelines, they…” Quentin tucked his hair back, furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried to find the words. “Well. See, he was _you,_ alright? I mean. Okay. Not… not in the way that like, that… Uh, you, uh. I know that, um. You told me, you told me he wasn’t you—that I had to know he wasn’t you. And I get that, because to _you,_ I’m not… Well, I’m not to you what I was to him. We’re not, I mean… He and I, we… I’m not sure I’m making sense.”

“Maybe some details would help?” Eliot suggested mildly. “Instead of vague references?”

Quentin glanced at him, considering. “There was another timeline,” he said slowly. “A timeline that… Well. That Eliot 40 and I remembered. We didn’t live it. But we remembered it. He said something similar to what you said, actually. That the versions of us that lived that life weren’t… Well, that they weren’t _us._ Which, I guess, is strictly true. In some ways.”

“Another timeline,” Eliot repeated, raising an eyebrow.

A little lost in thought, Quentin stared off. _The mosaic._ The life he never got to live, the fifty years of emotions he was injected with. That version of himself that he never got to be.

“It was an entire life,” Quentin said softly. “Fifty years. I _remember_ fifty years of a life that I didn’t experience.”

“Oh,” Eliot said. “Shit.”

Quentin glanced at him with a slight smile. “Yeah. In any case, uh… That life. It… According to, well, to Eliot 40, it wasn’t us. Those people weren’t us, that _person_ wasn’t him.” He paused, flexing his hands. “I don’t… I don’t really see it that way. It’s hard to separate out who we are from who we might’ve been or who we could be.”

“Hm…” Eliot looked away. Quentin knew that expression. He was withdrawing.

“Hey, let me—” he started, a little desperate to explain himself without scaring Eliot away. “Just. Let me tell you about Penny 23.”

That caught Eliot’s attention. Curiously, he met Quentin’s gaze. “Penny 23?”

“Yeah,” Quentin said. Possibly a little to eagerly. “Well. Okay, so um. Timeline 23, it’s… Well, it didn’t go well. Their version of me died, their version of Julia died, their versions of you and Margo died.”

“Well, shit.”

“Mhm. So um, but Penny 23, he didn’t die. And uh, well. Okay, Julia 40, uh, she went to Timeline 23 at one point. And it turned out, that in Timeline 23, Penny and Julia had fallen in love. So he saw her—saw Julia 40, I mean—and it was… Well, she wasn’t the girl he’d fallen in love with, but she was still _Julia.”_

“Right,” Eliot said, his tone a little flatter.

“Just. Let me finish, okay?” Quentin ran an anxious hand through his hair. “Penny 23 came back to Timeline 40. He said… Well, he said there was nothing left for him in Timeline 23. Julia 40, she’d barely even known Penny 40. But that wasn’t—well, that’s not—”

He hesitated, studying Eliot’s face. Eliot broke eye contact, looking almost pained.

How was he supposed to explain any of this?

“She was still Julia to him. Even if he didn’t mean the same thing to her. Because, with these timelines, I mean… It’s complicated. It’s like… These are all iterations of who we might’ve been. Or who we could be. The version of Julia that Penny 23 was in love with, she both does and doesn’t exist in Timeline 40. Because there are parts of us that don’t change, I guess? Constants in who we are as people. Different experiences, different memories, different traumas, they can’t change the core of who someone is.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I making any sense? I feel like I’m not making any fucking sense.”

Eliot didn’t say anything. He just looked thoughtful, apprehensive, his brow furrowed as he look off into the dark.

_Fuck,_ Quentin thought, wanting to disappear a little bit. God, Eliot—he was probably so uncomfortable. Quentin hated putting him in this position—this weird, complicated position. Because Quentin knew more about Eliot than he’d been willing to reveal at this point. This Eliot, he hadn’t gotten to choose whether to let Quentin in—it was too late, Quentin had dropped into his world already knowing parts of himself that it had taken Eliot years to feel comfortable showing.

Honestly, it was probably kind of excruciating. Quentin felt some guilt in the back of his throat, trying to force out apologies—

_I’m sorry I know you. I’m sorry I love you. I’m sorry I’m here._

“Look, El,” he said, looking into Eliot’s eyes even as Eliot’s gaze kept shifting away. He started to move forward, started to reach out to touch him, almost automatically, but he stopped himself. “I know you’re not dumb. I know you can, well, um… I know that you can tell. How I feel, I mean. And I know you don’t… Well, I mean… So, um. I just.” He took a breath. “Alright. I want you to… I _need_ you to know that I’m not asking anything from you. I don’t expect anything. I get that this is… weird. To say the fucking least. But just… I’m, um. I’m sorry.”

Eliot met his gaze more steadily, his eyes opaque, unreadable. Quentin was usually so good at gauging Eliot’s emotions, he thought, but there was something inaccessible here. Eliot was looking at him in a way that was unfamiliar. It was… new. Strangely new.

“Sorry?” Eliot said, almost gently. “What for?”

Quentin tried to smile. “I don’t know. Um. For putting you in this position, I guess. This whole situation is pretty, um, pretty fucked up.”

There was a long silent moment, stretched out there in the dark. Quentin felt like he needed to hold his breath. The sounds of the party drifted through them, but it felt so distant. So disconnected.

They were both still. The air felt charged. Quentin wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he thought it almost seemed like Eliot was leaning towards him, like there was something magnetic drawing them closer.

A breeze curled around them, Eliot’s hair shifting, and the moment broke.

“Right,” Eliot said, his voice a little scratchy.

“Sorry,” Quentin said again, uncertain.

Eliot offered a small smile. “Don’t be.”


	24. Last Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter contains one of the very first scenes I ever wrote for this story. I hope you like it, it's been waiting around for quite some time.

The party had been a success, as all parties in the Cottage were. Even with magic, cleaning up was annoying, and Margo maintained that as the person who planned and set up the party, someone _else_ should do that clean up. And who was going to argue with her?

Which was why she was here the next day, mid-afternoon, instead of helping out downstairs.

Margo was stretched out of Quentin’s bed, flipping through his first edition Fillory books.

“How much did these cost you?” she murmured.

He glanced over from where he was sitting at his desk. “Well, they weren’t cheap.”

Quentin was also off the hook in terms of helping clean because he’d spent the morning reassembling all of the cups people had broken.

“Oh, I forgot this part!” Margo said, not bothering to curb her enthusiasm. It was  _Quentin,_ after all. It was almost impossible to feel embarrassed about being nerdy around him. He always won that contest. “The witch and the fool, saving Jane from that trap with the riddle. I always loved all the helpful strangers that would rescue the kids. Made you believe the world was a kind place, you know?”

“Hey, Margo,” Quentin said, and there was something weird in his tone.

Margo glanced up, realizing what the _weird_ was. Q was grinning like a moron.

“Careful, you could hurt yourself.” She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, spit it out. Whatever Fillory trivia you’ve got for me.”

“You’ll never guess who the witch and the fool are,” Quentin said, and he was practically _bursting_ with excitement.

Margo smiled a little. His enthusiasm was sweet.  

“Well, come on,” she prompted. “Tell me.”

“It’s me and Julia,” he blurted out.

“Oh, bull _shit_ ,” Margo replied, closing the book. “Fuck you, lying dick. I thought you were going to say it was the Watcherwoman or something.”

He shook his head. “No, _seriously_. When Julia and I go to Fillory Past to grab Martin? We’re also going to be making an appearance in the book.”

“Jesus fuck, it’s like your nerd wet dream, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t be jealous.”

“I’m _not—”_

“Oh, but do you want to know who the Watcherwoman is?”

She hesitated. “That feels like a spoiler, but I know it never comes up in the books.”

Quentin nodded, clearly wanting to tell her.

“Okay, okay, fine,” she said, shaking off the desire to solve the mystery herself. “Tell me, who is it?”

“It’s _Jane._ Grown-up Jane.”

Margo literally gaped. “No fucking way.”

“Seriously. She got the, um, the time key from, well—um—anyway, that’s how all the time loops are happening, and how she was able to be the villain in her own story, and um, so it’s like, she actually _wasn’t_ a villain, right? She was just, like, trying to prepare younger her to face her brother—”

“Wait, back up—what’s the time key?”

Quentin stopped, looking confused for a moment. “Oh. Right. The, um… The key quest, that doesn’t happen for, like… For a while.”

“The _key quest?”_

“Okay, it might never happen, because we haven’t, um, lost magic here, so—”

“ _Lost magic?”_

Quentin took a breath like he was going to say something and then he paused, shutting his mouth and narrowing his eyes a little. “Maybe, um. Maybe I shouldn’t get into all that.”

Margo rubbed her temples. “Jesus Christ, Q. We can have this conversation after all this is over.”

“Yeah,” Quentin replied, offering a slightly sheepish smile.

She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him, earning a laugh and a grin.

“You’re such an adorable dumbass, Q,” she said, affectionately.

“Um, thanks?”

\---

“You’re sure?” Julia said hesitantly.

Penny nodded. “I have to. Otherwise, I can’t really contact the girl in the dungeon.”

“The Beast will be able to access your mind again,” Julia replied. She crossed her arms, thoughtful and troubled.

Absent-mindedly, she tapped her fingers against her arm.

“I know. Look, right after we’ve gotten through this part,” Penny said, “I’m gonna need you to help me cast it again. Okay? But I need my mind open for this.”

Julia still looked skeptical, a small crinkle between her eyebrows betraying her worry.

Penny smiled warmly. “Listen, don’t get me wrong, I love the idea that you care.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“But I’ll be okay, Jules.”

“You better be, I put a lot of effort into this spell,” she replied, avoiding eye contact.

Penny laughed a little. God, he really fucking loved her.

Maybe after all this was over, he’d even do something about it.

\---

Alice circled the cage they’d set up in the basement, copied and modified from the one they’d made for Charlie.

“It’s done, there’s nothing more to add,” Kady said.

“I know, I know, I’m just double checking,” Alice replied.

“It’s not double checking if it’s the fifth time.”

“We need to be _sure—”_

“We’re as sure as we’re going to get at this point, Quinn.”

Alice let out a frustrated sigh.

“Is this because you’re hungover?”

She shot Kady an unamused glance. “ _No._ I’m not hungover. I don’t think. I wouldn’t know.” She shook her head. “Not important. We just—we can’t afford to screw this up.”

“Hey, Alice,” Kady said, a little more seriously. “Relax, alright? It’s not like this is all hinging on you here. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, we’re all in this, okay?”

Alice took a deep breath, trying to focus on Kady’s words.

She was just so keyed up, so anxious and tense and stressed. From feeling like an idiot after all her drunken rambling at the party, from the confusing flirtations Kady had been sending her way when making her those drinks, from seeing her mother…

It was just a lot. Alice wanted to take a beat to breathe.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kady said.

Alice closed her eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” she echoed.

“That’s my girl.”

The air felt heavy against Alice’s skin. She wanted it to be okay. She wanted everything to be okay.

And, of course, there was—

“What if Charlie hates me?” Alice said, her voice small.

There was a long beat of silence, and Alice could almost hear her heartbeat.

“Is that what this is about?” Kady said softly.

“Not _only_ , but…” Alice sniffed, feeling embarrassed about the way she was tearing up. She looked down, hiding her face. “I miss him so much. What if I go through all of that and he hates me for it? What if what happened to Quentin happens to me? What if I get him back just to lose him again?”

“Oh, Alice.” Kady walked towards her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Alice leaned into the touch, letting Kady wrap her arms around her.

“We can’t predict what’ll happen,” Kady said. “All we can do is try to do the right thing with the information we have.”

“What if I don’t know what the right thing is?” Alice replied.

“We just _try_ , Alice.”

\---

The party had been… illuminating.

Kind of. In some ways, anyway.

In other ways, it had only made everything feel more complicated.

Quentin loved him. Or so it would _seem_ , in any case. Or, rather, Quentin _believed_ that he loved Eliot.

Eliot, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so sure. He understood what Quentin had been saying—or he thought he understood, anyway. To Quentin, he was, well, for lack of a better term, close enough. An adequate stand in, maybe.

Or maybe Quentin hadn’t quite grasped how Eliot was different from the man he’d known.

Eliot didn’t know how to tell Quentin that there _must_ be something missing. That he was certain he wasn’t worthy of Quentin’s affections, that Quentin was going to realize it soon, too. That whatever had made Quentin fall in love with that other Eliot wasn’t _here._

It _almost_ made Eliot believe that Quentin should return to his own timeline.

Almost.

Eliot wasn’t that selfless.

Eliot wanted Quentin to stay—he wanted Quentin to stay badly enough that he, God forbid, was going to _try._

It was terrifying. Truly, wholly, _beyond_ terrifying.

But Eliot couldn’t just sulk around, go through the motions of their plan, and let Quentin disappear back from whence he came. Eliot couldn’t just hide or run away until it was too late. He _needed_ to see what he was up against, see who he was competing with here.

He couldn’t just let Quentin go.

He _wanted_ Quentin in his life, selfish as that may be. And he wanted _this_ Quentin, not whatever timeline copy might appear in his place. This was _his_ Quentin, even though he wasn’t Quentin’s Eliot.

Quentin had said he didn’t belong here, that he wasn’t supposed to _be_ here—

Well. Eliot couldn’t accept that.

It was terrifying, stepping up like this.

But Eliot could be brave.

Eliot _would_ be brave.

He needed to know.

He scrawled the spell down, his handwriting shakier than usual. It was a surprisingly simple spell—it took very little time, just a lot of concentration on the part of the person casting.

Eliot was not capable of that level of concentration at the moment, but luckily, he was not the one who needed to cast it.

He showed up at Quentin’s door that night, feeling a little queasy as he clutched the paper in his hand.

Quentin furrowed his brow, seeming to see Eliot’s anxiety. “Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let Eliot in the room.

Eliot walked in briskly, _fucking terrified._ But he needed to be brave. And it needed to be _now,_ before everything else started. He didn’t know how immediately Quentin would vanish after everything.

It was now or never, and never was _not_ an option. Eliot couldn’t live with himself if he lost Quentin without even trying.

Unable to find the words, he merely thrust the paper towards Quentin.

Hesitantly, Quentin took it, his eyes scanning the page. “Eliot—” he started.

“Here’s the thing, Q,” Eliot said, trying to let sincerity into his tone. “After our conversation last night, I felt… Well. I mean, if you remember a timeline you never experienced, then…”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Quentin said, keeping his eyes on the page.

Eliot clenched his jaw. “Are you saying that because you don’t want to do it, or because you don’t think I should?” he said slowly.

Quentin looked up at him, eyes pained.

“Because if you don’t want to, if there are things you don’t want to share with me,” Eliot said, keeping his voice soft, “I’ll drop it right now and I'll never bring it up again. Okay? But if you just don’t think _I_ should—”

“It’s not quite—” Quentin said. He paused, letting out a short sigh and running a nervous hand over his hair. “Look, okay, I—I’m not hiding anything from you. I don’t want to hide anything from you. But this—it’s, um, a _lot_ , and I just—” He looked into Eliot’s eyes, and Eliot had to force himself to maintain eye contact. There was a long, charged silence—Eliot held his breath.

“I don’t want you to have to go through it,” Quentin finally said.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Eliot replied. He felt at once relieved that it wasn’t that Quentin didn’t want to share with him, and terrified that he’d lost his easy out. “Please, Q.”

“Are you sure?” Quentin said, eyes dark with worry and pain. “I really don’t think—”

“I _have_ to know, Q,” Eliot replied, as earnestly as he could manage. His hands shook. “If you have to live with it, I do, too.”

Quentin looked reluctant, desperate to argue. But he didn’t. He just closed his eyes, and he began casting, his fingers moving though the spell carefully.

Eliot got knocked backwards by the force of the memories. They were all from Q’s perspective, so he could see, he could see _himself._

The images moved fast, overwhelming Eliot.

Eliot’s hand putting a key in the lock of a grandfather clock.

Quentin watching Eliot hunched over a puzzle of tiles. Quentin’s feelings of longing.

Quentin looking up at Eliot as they stretched out together on a blanket under the stars. The twinge of nervousness Quentin feels before managing to get the courage to lean up, a little too quick, a little too awkwardly, kissing Eliot on the mouth.

Eliot seeing himself, seeing himself looking at Q in pleasant surprise, with soft, affectionate eyes, as he leans down, cupping Quentin’s neck.

Quentin, underneath Eliot, underneath the stars, his hands tangled in Eliot’s hair or grasping at Eliot’s back as they moved together, skin on skin, fingers tracing down spine—breathing heavily, eyes fluttering shut, Quentin burying his face in Eliot’s neck, confessions on his tongue and skin in his teeth—

Waking up in each other’s arms, in the single bed in the cottage, _their_ cottage, their _home,_ sleepy smiles and Eliot’s voice, _good morning—_

The way they grew towards each other, their lives and their selves tangling, casual touches, warm smiles, the safety of bickering when you knew no fight could ruin what you had—

Their life, their house, their _family—_

Growing old together—

The overwhelming rush of experiencing all those memories, all those feelings, fifty _years_ together—

Quentin taking a chance, going out on a limb, putting his heart on the line and trusting Eliot with it, _what if we gave it a shot, why the fuck not,_ Eliot with distant, guarded eyes and a shaking head— _I love you, but…_ And Quentin’s heart shattering.

Eliot's concealed awkwardness and forced jokes,  _go be life partners with someone else,_ Quentin's silent frustration,  _why won’t you admit what we have together,_ forcing his feelings away every time Eliot entered the room. Quentin unable to distance himself to try and get past his feelings, always leaning in to Eliot no matter how much it hurt.

Quentin making the decision to spend eternity in a dark, empty castle—Eliot’s look of abject _horror_ at the idea. Quentin daring Eliot to explain how it was _different,_ why should Quentin stay, what was there _for_ him here, don’t we all have to make sacrifices, how could Eliot _ask_ Quentin to stay after seeing _proof of concept_ and still rejecting him…

Quentin, calling Eliot’s name as Eliot held a gun to the monster. Quentin’s small feeling of relief, knowing, knowing that Eliot cared enough to stop him.

And then.

Quentin, but not Quentin. Eliot, but not Eliot.

A monster with Eliot’s face and eyes and mouth and hands, looming over Quentin, controlling him and toying with him. Breaking and healing his arm with a flick of his hand. Eliot’s voice, distorted, _wrong,_ his eyes cold.

Quentin becoming himself again, still with those vague foggy memories of being Brian, like memories underwater—becoming himself again, into _this_ life, where he’s trapped and in pain and tortured.

Quentin’s pain every time he had to look at the monster. Every touch, every strike, every word—and it’s _Eliot’s_ face.

Quentin hearing that Eliot was dead, the hurt, the grief, too enormous and overwhelming to begin to feel. Quentin shoving it all away, feeling numb, numb, numb, because Eliot was _dead_.

Quentin, ready to kill the monster. Dreading it. Studying Eliot-but-not-Eliot’s face, knowing they’d never see each other again.

_Fifty years. Who gets proof of concept like that?_

_Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I’m alive in here._

_Eliot._

Quentin’s burst of hope— _it wasn’t over, it wasn’t over, he could still be saved._ His one-track focus, _nothing else matters,_ we _have_ to risk lives because _it’s Eliot._

Quentin confronting the monster. _Break my bones. Strangle me. I’m too tired to care anymore._

He _meant_ it—he was ready to burn everything to the ground, destroy the Monster, destroy himself in the process, collateral damage be damned…

All for Eliot.

_You hurt him…_

_Why do you care about him so much?_

Images of the Mosaic flashing, of Eliot’s laugh and smile and warm gaze—

_Because I do._

Eliot’s mind spun, his vision clouding and his heart pounding.

It was more, more than he could’ve imagined, more than he could fathom, more than he would’ve expected anyone to _survive._

And here was Quentin. Reaching out with a look of concern in _his_ eyes— _Wait, El, are you okay?_

Eliot stumbled back into the wall. He got ahold of himself, opening his eyes and gasping.

“El?” Quentin said, reaching out hesitantly. “El, I’m sorry, are you alright?”

Eliot let out a thin laugh. “How can you be—why are you concerned about _me_ right now?”

Quentin smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. “Come on, El. You know why.” He said it so matter-of-factly—like _of course, obviously—_

Eliot stared at Quentin, speechless and breathless and awed. God, everything he _went through_ —

“Q,” Eliot said brokenly. He exhaled slowly, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards Quentin.

He moved with care, a gentle hand on Quentin’s arm, the other on the side of his neck. He tugged slightly, letting Quentin go the rest of the way, pulling him in so he fit against Eliot’s chest. Quentin relaxed into him, embracing him back.

Eliot pressed his lips into Quentin’s forehead. “Q, I don’t…” How could he find the words?

He tightened his grip, bringing a hand up and curling his fingers into Q’s hair. All the love and pain and amazement he felt for this man made his heart ache.

“How the hell did you _survive_ all that?” Eliot breathed. He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

“I almost didn’t.”

 _There._ That was the answer Eliot didn’t want to hear. It _hurt._

Quentin would’ve died to save Eliot. He would’ve died just to _try._

Eliot’s vision blurred with unshed tears.

Everything made so much sense now.

Someone good and true loved _him_ , in some distant incomprehensible way, loved some version of him—

“Quentin,” he said, softly, reverently.

Quentin tightened his arms around Eliot’s waist, burying his face in Eliot’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “You shouldn’t’ve had to see all that. I’m sorry.”

Eliot let out a wet, strained laugh.

“Don’t go back,” Eliot said, before he could stop himself.

Quentin stilled in his arms, and Eliot bit his tongue, hating himself a little.

“El, I—” Quentin started, sounding a little desperate.

“It’s okay,” Eliot said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s fine.” He swallowed hard, pushing his feelings down. “I just needed to say it.”

He pulled back a little abruptly, looking into Quentin’s eyes, searching. His hand still on Quentin’s neck. They were standing so close, brushing against one another as they breathed.

Quentin gazed back up at him with this heavy, sad expression, his eyes wide. They seemed to be searching Eliot’s, too.

Searching, searching. Eliot wondered what they would both find.

“I know I’m not him,” Eliot said, his voice shaking with the effort of forcing out these words, these raw, bare words, rather than undermining the mood with a snarky comment. “But you’re the only Quentin I’ve ever known.”

“Eliot,” Quentin started, his voice cracking a little. He made a cut-off noise, like there was something he wanted to say, like he couldn’t form the words. His eyes dipped briefly to Eliot’s lips before he closed them tightly.

 _Brave,_ Eliot told himself.

He ran a thumb along Quentin’s jawline. Eliot didn’t like being honest. He’d learned a long time ago that sincerity was dangerous, that it would get you hurt.

Some things were worth getting hurt for.

He pulled Quentin closer, just a little, and Quentin made another noise in the back of his throat as he opened his eyes.

Eliot swallowed hard, pushing away the desire to break eye contact, the desire to run away.

He leaned down, slowly, carefully—

Quentin exhaled—

Eliot hesitated, his heart racing and his skin prickling— _last chance, last chance to run away, last chance to protect yourself, last chance to—_

He pressed his lips to Quentin’s, simultaneously gentle and desperate. A question in it, a plea—

Immediately, Quentin kissed back, pushing up against Eliot’s chest, his lips warm and soft and just as _desperate_ as Eliot—

An answer, maybe, maybe—

Eliot felt a heat in his chest, an ache between his ribs, his throat tightening—it was _too much,_ all these thoughts and feelings and memories—

God, when had he fallen this hard? How had it gotten to _this_ point, as Eliot had been trying to hide it and push it away and cover it up?

Eliot tightened his arm around Quentin’s waist, feeling Quentin’s heart beating against his.

Quentin started to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth, grasping at Eliot’s shirt, his tongue tracing Eliot’s lower lip, and—

Eliot couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled away, a little too fast, letting go of Quentin and stepping backwards.

Quentin stumbled slightly, breathing hard. His eyes flew open, glassy and a little alarmed. “I’m sorry, I—” he started. Eliot could see his hands shaking slightly, where they still hovered in the air.

_What if he leaves, what if he goes back, what if—_

Eliot shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.”

Quentin looked up at him. Wide eyes, gazing steadily. “Eliot?” he said softly. _A question._

“I should go,” Eliot said. _An answer._

_You can’t do this to him, you can’t ask him to stay for you—it’s selfish, you’re being selfish, you’re not good enough for him—he already loves someone else, no matter what he says, no matter how he looks at you—_

“Right,” Quentin said. He cleared his throat, shaking his head and running a hand over his hair. When he seemed to gather himself, he looked back at Eliot.

Eliot thought he saw—he thought he saw—

Understanding in Quentin’s eyes. Soft, gentle understanding—without judgment, without disappointment.

Quentin offered a small smile. “It’s okay, Eliot.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliot said again. Not sure what else to do.

Eliot could feel a tugging in his chest, like there was a string trying to pull him back to Quentin—

Quentin shook his head. “It’s fine. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. We should probably all get some sleep, right? There’ll be time to figure everything else out afterwards.”

Eliot recognized being offered an out when he saw it. He offered people ways out all the time.

_There’ll be time—_

Eliot ignored the flicker of hope that gave him.

“Right,” Eliot replied, pushing his shoulders back and pulling his walls back up. “Can’t save the world without some rest.”

“Right,” Quentin replied.

Without saying anything else, without apologizing again like he wanted to, without telling Quentin everything he wanted to say—

Eliot turned and left. Closing the door behind him.

His lips still feeling the echo of Quentin’s.


	25. State of Mind: Character Vignettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transitional chapter for checking in with how everyone is doing.  
> Also, incidentally, if you're interested: the scene of Eliot getting Q's memories is the one that was one of the first scenes I wrote for this story.

Margo was ready. Margo was _always_ ready. Ready to live out her childhood dreams of heroics and magic. Her grand adventure, the one she’d long since lost any hope of really finding, coming to her at last. It was enough to make her want to call her father— _hey, dad, remember when you changed your mind about girls being the heroes of stories, remember when I started wearing eyeliner and kissing boys and kissing girls and you decided that the only princess story worth telling was the one about the girl locked in a tower, never to be seen again, remember when you told me that you didn’t recognize me anymore, that I wasn’t the girl you’d raised—_

Well. If ever there was a chance to prove how wrong he was…

She was _exactly_ the girl he’d raised, every inch the hero he’d let her believe that she was.

Margo was never going to be locked in any tower. She was never going to be the damsel, and he should’ve known that. _Everyone_ should know that.

And if they didn’t know before, they sure as hell would now.

\---

Kady was, all things considered, pretty chill about the whole deal. Magic was real, the Underworld was real and Kady had now _gone_ there, dragons were real, there was a monster from another world coming to kill them any day now and they were gonna try to use fucking time magic to fix the whole deal.

Whatever. Kady was officially unfazed by the insanity of the world around her, she decided. Growing up around hedges, she thought she’d never be surprised again.

No, _now_ she was never going to be surprised again. Because she no longer had a line drawn between what she would and wouldn’t believe. Anything was possible. Including, miraculously, the idea that that they could pull off this crazy bullshit.

Anything was possible. Whatever.

Kady couldn’t bring herself to be stressed. She was made of steel, and she wasn’t going to let herself freak out about this. Alice and Quentin had the panicking area of the plan covered anyway. They were in change of the anxiety.

Kady, for her part, was chill. She would do the shit she needed to do, they’d regroup, they’d pull it off.

Whatever. It was possible.

\---

Penny was—and he would never admit this—drowning. A little bit. The spell Julia had given him, the spell that blocked all the fucking voices that had been his hellish white noise all his life… Well. He hoped that he could get that spell back real fucking quick.

He’d grown fond of the silence. He wanted it back.

But it had also made him a little complacent, apparently—

He could hear the desperate pleas of the girl in the dungeon again. He needed to save her, and he needed to save her, like, _right fucking now,_ because he couldn’t take much more of her tears and cries and pain.

God, it was excruciating. He needed to find her. He needed to fucking destroy whatever was hurting her like that.

And then there was the voice of the Beast again, a small taunting tone, in the back of his mind—

Less present than it had once been, but very, very there—

And he didn’t know what to do with that either.

He’d have to remember, after all this, how grateful he was that Julia Wicker had come into his life.

\---

Alice was… Well. She wasn’t sure _what_ she was. Only that it was enormous and nebulous and heavy.

She just kept trying to repeat _this doesn’t all hinge on you_ to herself in her mind. She, admittedly, had trouble with not putting pressure on herself. Failure was not an option for her and it never had been.

It was _possible_ she was making all of this worse than it needed to be.

It was _possible_ she was channeling all her stress into the Beast and Fillory because she didn’t want to think about Charlie.

It was _possible_ that every time she touched the locket around her neck, it felt warmer against her fingertips and she worried about how long a Shade could be trapped like that.

It was _possible_ she was in over her head.

Well. It was possible that Alice needed some rest and some food and maybe an alcoholic beverage that tasted like Skittles. In whatever order those things could arrive in. She wasn’t too picky, really.

\---

Eliot wasn’t sure what he was doing. He paced the length of his room. How did he get pulled into this entire mess again?

Ah. Right. _Quentin_. And also Margo. And Mike, too, he supposed.

There was also the small fact that the Beast might kill them all if left to his own devices, and Eliot didn’t _really_ want to die. Or at the very least, he didn’t want to be killed by some monster from another world.

Unfortunately, Eliot’s ability to focus on the crisis was… Well, nonexistent. He couldn’t do it. He was not capable of it. Not after… everything.

Quentin’s memories…

He wasn’t sure what he’d _expected,_ exactly, but it wasn’t fucking _that._

Quentin—

It felt like every five seconds or so, something else about it hit him—

_That moment, before, when Quentin flinched when they'd been arguing, was that because of the Monster—_

_They had a family, together, a real family, a loving family—_

_Quentin’s Eliot was still possessed, in that other timeline, in that other unfathomable place—_

_The Eliot in his timeline had_ rejected _Quentin, and what was Eliot supposed to do with_ that _information, Jesus Christ—_

_Would Quentin even consider staying here, or would Eliot have to say goodbye to him—_

_Would Eliot lose him forever—_

_Was it selfish to want him to stay—_

God.

Everything was such a fucking mess.

And Eliot could still feel Quentin’s lips against his.

He thought he might feel Quentin’s lips forever, like that kiss never truly ended.

Well. At least if Quentin vanished forever, he’d still have that.

\---

Julia was enchanted. She realized everything was dangerous and complicated and messy, but God, she was going to go to _Fillory,_ and nothing in this world or any other could ruin that.

She was going to complete the open-ended plot threads of her favorite books. She was going to save one of her childhood heroes. She was going to reclaim the story from the awful monster who’d attached his name to it, she was going to _take_ that beautiful world from him because he did not deserve it.

She was going to be a part of that narrative that she loved, and she was going to make it better.

It was kind of beautiful, really.

Julia was choosing to find it all beautiful.

\---

Quentin had to focus. Because Julia and Penny had been right to begin with—even if it turned out to be impossible to save Martin, they had to _try._ It was the right thing to do.

It was important that he focused on—

_the way that Eliot had looked at him, with searching, desperate eyes—_

—Fillory, and on the quest, and on Martin—

_Eliot’s hand on the side of his neck, Eliot’s fingers in his hair—_

—on making sure no one got hurt this time, because Quentin _needed_ everyone to be okay—

_Eliot’s lips, Eliot’s lips, Eliot’s lips—_

—and Quentin was the one who dragged everyone into this fucking mess is every timeline, so it was on him if anyone got hurt—

_Eliot, overwhelmed, pulling away, looking conflicted and afraid and so fucking sorry—_

Listen, Quentin was having a hard time focusing on Fillory and the Beast right now.

Quentin would be the first to admit he had a tendency to overthink things and overreact and obsess, but he was pretty sure he had a good enough excuse here.

Because Eliot…

Eliot had kissed him. Eliot had looked at him the way—well, the way _Eliot_ looked at him. He remembered the sharp pain of showing up in this timeline, seeing Eliot’s eyes those first few days—distant and guarded and vaguely curious. He remembered the pain of being a stranger to the love of his life.

And the way Eliot had looked at him—

He _knew_ what that meant.

Whether or not Eliot would want to follow through on his feelings was another matter entirely. Quentin, when he knew how he felt, was always all in. When he’d known he loved Eliot, it took no thought, not a moment hesitation. Quentin _knew,_ and he knew what he wanted. He wanted Eliot, and it never really had to be more complicated than that. Quentin loved who and what he loved, pure and simple.

Eliot did not have that same take on feelings. His walls were too important to him. Once, in another life, it had taken him years to _really_ let Quentin in. Once, in another life, he’d seen proof of concept and pushed it away out of what Quentin could only imagine was fear and denial and disbelief.

And here…

Who knew, really? Who knew what might happen? Who knew how Eliot felt?

All Quentin knew what that he needed to focus on Martin and the Beast and Fillory.

And he just _couldn’t_.


	26. Rescue Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone order some, uhhhh, actual plot development?  
> Also, just a heads up--the next chapter won't be up for a while. I'm sorry in advance for the wait.

“Okay, phase one: the rescue mission,” Quentin said. He tried not to pace. “Julia and I are getting Martin. Eliot, Margo, and Alice are getting Josh. Penny and Kady, you’re on Victoria.”

“I hope you understand how little these names mean to most of us,” Kady replied.

“Not important,” Quentin said. “Victoria’s gonna be able tell Penny how to travel other people. We need to get Martin out of that time before we get to dealing with Ember and Umber. And Josh… Well, I’d feel guilty abandoning him in the Neitherlands. Considering I’ve already let it go on this long.”

“Well,” Margo said, strength and certainty in her tone, “What the fuck are we waiting for?”

Quentin nodded. _Time to go._

\---

Penny looked at Julia and Quentin, standing outside the circle.

“See you soon,” he promised. Quentin gave a short nod, and Julia gave a tense smile. _Here goes._

Penny wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he touched the button—Quentin had warned him exactly what would happen, and yet he still felt the cold shock of confusion as he came to surrounded by water, one hand still clinging to Margo’s, the other having lost Alice.

He surged upwards, not letting go of Margo until he pulled her and himself over the side of the fountain.

Coughing and shivering, he fell to his knees.

“Fucking hell,” Margo muttered as she spat out water.

Penny agreed.

He pulled himself together as he got to his feet and took stock of their group and their surroundings.

Fountains, grey and dreary—the air cold like it was winter. Penny pulled his scarf off, wringing it out.

Eliot was getting to his feet, arm braced against the fountain they’d fallen out of, Margo holding his other hand. Kady was shaking out her hair and helping Alice up.

“Alright,” Penny said, glancing around furtively to make sure none of the Neitherlands locals that Quentin had warned them about were around. “Alice, do your thing.”

She nodded briskly. “Stay close—and Eliot and Penny, hunch down. It’s gonna be a tight fit.”

\---

The others vanished and Quentin took a shaky breath, trying _desperately_ to not picture all the ways they could get hurt. _Eliot—_

Quentin turned to Julia. _Stay on task._

“And we’re getting Martin,” Julia said.

“And we’re getting Martin,” Quentin confirmed. They headed to Eliot and Margo’s portal, Julia gripping the machine that was going to send them back to 1942.

“In _Fillory._ In the _past.”_

“I just hope we can get back to the present,” Quentin said. “I don’t… Super remember how we did it last time.”

Julia glanced at him, bemused. “Really? That didn’t make an impression?”

“Julia, we robbed a bank, we killed Ember, I became a king of Fillory, Eliot got possessed by an ancient monster. Shit has gone _down_ since then.”

She stared at him for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “Jesus, Q. I’m not even gonna…” She shook her head, smiling. “It’ll work out. It’s Fillory; there’s always a way.”

Quentin cracked a smile back. “Sounds familiar.”

She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “Magic, Quentin. Magic is real. Fillory is real.”

The way she smiled, it was a little contagious. And somehow, he understood the reverence in her tone. He _got_ it. Her faith, her optimism. It made sense again.

Magic was real.

He smiled, feeling just a bit lighter.

“There’s always a way,” he replied, like a mantra. “Here goes.”

\---

“This is where we leave you,” Kady said quietly.

The Fillory fountain loomed large beside them.

Alice pursed her lips, looking deep into Kady’s eyes. Kady almost had to look away.

“Stay safe,” Alice replied.

“You, too,” Kady replied. She opened her mouth to say something else, but nothing came out.

This was only phase one of the entire plan. It was supposed to be the easy step—in and out, rescue the people who needed it, get to the hard stuff after. They weren’t dealing with the Beast, they weren’t dealing with gods.

All in all, they’d all been pretty confident moments before leaving. Moments before leaving, it had felt like a sure thing that they would all make it back.

But with Alice looking at her like that—

Like she was trying to memorize the moment—

Kady had to admit there was some strange feeling caught in her ribs.

She put a hand on Alice’s shoulder, knowing Alice had to keep her hands in position to keep them all from being seen.

“I’ll see you back in the Cottage,” Kady said, trying desperately to sound certain.

Alice nodded, clenching her jaw.

 _Fuck it,_ Kady thought, leaning forward and pressing her lips to Alice’s. The kiss was short, and tender—more like a promise than anything else.

As Kady pulled back, Alice stared at her, wide-eyed, looking like she wanted to say something.

Alice started to move when Margo grabbed her arm.

“Whoa, hey, I can appreciate a good dramatic goodbye, alright?” Margo hissed under her breath. “But don’t you _dare_ move your goddamn hands, Alice. We’re not in fucking Wonderland here.”

“Right,” Alice said, breathless. “Sorry.”

“We gotta go,” Penny said, tapping Kady’s arm.

“I will see you back at the Cottage,” Kady repeated to Alice, her voice low and insistent.

Then she turned, taking Penny’s hand and diving into the fountain without hesitation.

\---

“Oh my god,” Julia breathed. “It’s Jane. It’s really her. She looks so young.”

They kept their distance as they followed her, hesitating by store windows to look as nonchalant as possible.

“She can’t tell we’re following her,” Julia muttered at one point. “Right?”

“Hell if I know,” Quentin replied. “Can you tell that Martin is following us?”

“What, the kid ducking behind poles ten yards away?” Julia snorted. She made an effort to not glance back and double check that Martin was still there. She could see him in her periphery anyway.

She felt warm towards the kid—scurrying after them, trying to get into Fillory, wondering why they were following his sister. He seemed so young, so small and harmless. She knew that this was the kid that grew up into the Beast, that grew into the monster that had already killed them in previous timelines, but—

Penny was right. She had understood him, sort of, before, but she hadn’t really _seen_ Martin. Now she really got it. Penny was _right—_ this was what they needed to do. Martin was innocent, and he deserved to be saved and protected. Fillory was _supposed_ to save and protect him, and it had failed.

Time for a bunch of well-meaning anxious millennial grad students to step in, she mused.

“I hope this works,” Quentin said. Julia glanced at him, seeing the troubled crease between his eyebrows, the sad look in his eye.

She, for the thousandth time, felt sorry for all he’d had to go through.

She squeezed his hand lightly, smiling as brightly as she could. “It will,” she said. If he was going to be the cynic in their friendship, she’d happily take up being the idealist.

He glanced at her gratefully. “Yeah,” he replied, and he almost sounded like he believed it. He took a breath, seeing Jane hurrying towards the phone booth. “Here we go.”

“Rescue Jane, find the knife-maker, bring Martin home with us,” Julia recited.

“Fulfill the childhood dream of going to Fillory,” Quentin added.

A little surprised, she turned towards him. She smiled, excited. “Yeah,” she replied. “You ready, King Quentin?”

“After you, Queen Julia,” he said, with that familiar bubbling tone and the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked so much like _her_ Quentin that she almost started laughing with relief.

She curtseyed, just barely resisting skipping after Jane as she took Quentin’s hand and pulled him through the door.

\---

Alice was having a hard time concentrating. She could still feel the echo of Kady’s lips against hers. She didn’t exactly feel like dwelling and obsessing over what _that_ could mean—

Or what she _wanted_ it to mean—

They had work to do. Quentin hadn’t been able to be very specific as to where they were supposed to find this random guy.

 _I wasn’t with them when they found him, but like—I don’t know, Josh doesn’t seem like a hard guy to find,_ Quentin had oh-so-helpfully offered.

Alice had to remind herself to cut him some slack. It was a little bit of a gut reaction to find him annoying or frustrating, based mostly on how they’d first met and how weird he’d been to her. But she knew better now. Quentin was just doing the best he could with what he had, and she could respect that all of this was difficult for him.

So as they doubled back towards the Earth fountain, all they really knew was that he was somewhere between it and the Fillory fountain where they’d left Penny and Kady. It might’ve been a little easier if magic wasn’t so weird in the Neitherlands.

Margo had prepared a locator spell, a name based one since that was all they knew about Josh, but it was going a little haywire with all the odd circumstances that they hadn’t really been able to anticipate as issues.

Margo cursed under her breath as the locator spell dragged them back the way they’d already come.

“How much do we really care about this fucking guy?” she muttered. “He’s just one of those third years that vanished, right? Who gives a shit?”

“Q told us to find him, we’re finding him,” Eliot said with an amount of patience Alice couldn’t fathom.

She was leaning towards Margo’s point, if she was being honest. She was still distracted— _Kady kissed her, Kady_ kissed _her, God, she felt so warm and confused and afraid—_ and this Josh guy was a stranger. Quentin hadn’t even given them a tangible reason why they needed to find him.

At least Penny and Kady were looking for someone who knew a spell that would help Penny. They had a real, valid reason to need that girl, and she was in actual danger. As far as they knew, Josh was just having a fun time in this weird place.

“Okay, okay, the spell seems to have caught on something—” Margo said, mostly to herself. “Left. Go left.”

Alice stifled a sigh. They’d _already_ gone left.

Frankly, this whole life-threatening-rescue-mission was getting kind of boring.

But then they ran right into a guy sneaking around in a Brakebills hoodie.

Alice dropped the light-bending spell. “Josh Hoberman?” she said.

The guy froze staring at her, slack-jawed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Holy shit, yeah, who are you?” he said, a grin growing on his face.

“The rescue party,” Eliot said breezily, waving a hand lightly. “We’d better get back to the Earth fountain, Q said time moves differently here.”

Josh shook his head. “It’s blocked off—” He paused, dropping his grin. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Alice exchanged a look with Margo.

“ _Always_ wanted to say that,” Josh said. He gestured. “Alright, come on, strangers. Back to my lair.”

\---

“Fucking invisible castle,” Kady muttered. “Quentin couldn’t’ve been more specific with the map?”

“Give me a fucking second,” Penny replied sharply, shutting his eyes and reaching out to the girl. Victoria—she was nearby, he could feel it. He could sense her distress, her pain, her anguish.

Penny, for one, didn’t see the fucking appeal of Fillory, but whatever. It was just the same shit wrapped in a different package. Q and Julia loved the place, so Penny was _trying_ to see what they saw, but honestly?

The talking animals were annoying. The astronomy was fucking with his abilities. Even the opium in the air was just kind of distracting.

“Got anything yet?”

“I said give me a fucking second—” Penny cut off, pulling Kady by the arm behind a tree. “Those look like guards to you?”

Kady glanced around the tree, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah. And it doesn’t look like they’re guarding anything.”

They exchanged a look.

Penny sighed. “I hate this place,” he muttered.

“I’ll knock ‘em out and then we find the door,” Kady said. She shook her head. “God, _find the door._ Because of _course_ it’s a fucking invisible castle.”

She slipped around, marching towards the guards.

Penny loved Julia and Quentin and all, but he thought it was probably best that his introduction to this place was shared with Kady instead. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle any nerd enthusiasm right about now.

Fucking invisible castle.

He heard a slight commotion, immediately heading towards it in case Kady needed any help.

She did not.

She was standing over the guards, looking completely casual about it.

“Damn, girl,” Penny said, impressed.

“Sensing any doors, psychic?” Kady said as he walked over.

He looked at the guards, studying their chests to make sure they were still breathing. “Not exactly how being psychic works,” he said, absently. He leaned down, pulling a key from one of the guards’ belts.

When he touched it, the castle manifested in front of him, bleak and imposing.

“Shit,” he said. He handed Kady the key, and the castle vanished again the second the key was out of his hands.

She dropped it immediately. “Fuck. I thought nothing else could surprise me.”

Penny retrieved the key, heading for the now-visible door. He tried to put it in the lock, but it didn’t fit. “Huh,” he said, studying it.

And then Kady just opened the door. “It wasn’t even locked,” she said, amusement in her tone.

Penny shot her a half-hearted glare. “Shut up,” he said. He slipped the key into his pocket, without really thinking about it.

As he walked into the castle, he winced, Victoria’s thoughts practically screaming into his. She was begging for help—Penny looked around wildly.

“This way.” He rushed towards the sound.

\---

Quentin, despite everything, felt a bit of wonder as he stepped into Fillory, the now-familiar air and light of this magic place surrounding him.

“Holy shit, Q,” Julia breathed beside him.

He nodded. “Fillory, Jules.”

“Holy _shit.”_

He looked over at her with a small smile—he remembered walking through with her, years ago, when both their lives were falling apart. When there was so much chaos and pain surrounding them, and when their worlds had been reeling.

Stepping through—to this magic place that had saved them both, that had been their escape as children…

Quentin had been breathless. He’d been awed.

He’d been so focused on his own amazement, Quentin realized, that he hadn’t really _seen_ how Julia had been so taken herself—

Lucky, he supposed, that he got the chance to see this expression of wonder and joy on her face now.

“Is it weird that—” Julia started. She cut herself off, laughing a little before locking her eyes onto Quentin’s. “Is it weird that I’m like, really happy right now?”

Quentin shrugged. “Could be the opium,” he joked.

Julia hit his arm lightly. “You’re a dick,” she said. “No, Q, I mean… It’s like, we’re really here. Together. It’s kind of amazing.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, looking off into the distance at Whitespire. He felt a twinge of something—homesickness, almost. “Jules, not to be corny, but I love you.”

“You’re always corny,” she replied.

Quentin rolled his eyes, snorting.

She nudged her hand against his. “I love you, too,” she said, softer.

\---

“Chez Hoberman,” Josh said, snapping his fingers to get the lights on. His hideout was full of plants, strange looking in this gray-ish place.

“Nature student?” Alice guessed.

“Hell yeah, what about all of you?”

“Physical,” Margo replied, with a slightly disdainful glance.

“Sweet,” Josh replied, possibly missing her tone. “Help yourself to any of the food. It’s wild, magic in the Neitherlands is fucking weird. Just avoid the carrots—they’re totally psychedelic.”

Eliot glanced at them. “Sounds like a party,” he said.

“You’d think,” Josh said, frowning. “But it’s like, the worst acid, they only give you nightmare-trips.”

“Okay, pass,” Eliot replied.

“This tastes like a fucking pizza,” Margo said, staring at a tomato she’d taken a bite out of.

“Crazy, right?” Josh replied.

“Okay, we’re just regrouping here and giving me a break,” Alice said briskly. “Then I’ll cover us back to the Earth fountain. We can’t stay here long.”

“I’d like to get back to Earth,” Josh said. “Hey, what happened to the rest of my class? Spring break has been over for like a month, yeah? Are we all failing?”

“Yeah, uh, don’t freak, but your class vanished two years ago,” Margo said.

“We’ve been informed that time is slower here,” Eliot said. “Which is why Alice is right, we should get moving ASAP.”

“Oh. Right. Victoria told me about the whole time thing… Fuck,” Josh said, any brightness washing off his expression. “So, what, they’re… They’re all gone?”

“No one knows what happened to you guys,” Margo replied, almost hesitantly.

Alice caught sight of the way Josh was paling.

“Delay your freak-out,” Eliot interjected. “At least until we’re back on Earth.”

Josh nodded, his eyes unfocused. “Victoria saved me,” he said, half to himself. “She zapped me here, said she was gonna come back…”

A stab of sympathy hit. Okay, Alice had to admit it—Quentin was right. Regardless of whether she viewed Josh as useful, it would’ve been cruel to leave him here, knowing.

“We know where she is,” Alice said. “We’ve got two friends going to find her.”

He looked over at her, a little relieved and confused. “Wait, how’d you know where to find her? On that note, how did you know where to find _me?”_

“The answer to that is somewhat long,” Eliot said, waving a hand. “It sounds like the kind of explanation that can wait until we’re back.”

\---

Kady stopped in her tracks as Penny continued rushing forward.

The image was horrific. This girl, chained up, covered in dirt and dried blood, looking half dead. She was barely standing, held up only by the chains.

“Victoria?” Penny said, touching her shoulder lightly as he reached her.

The girl flinched back, panting.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, we’re here to get you out, okay?” Penny said. He glanced back. “Kady, a little help, c’mon.”

Kady moved forward, examining the chains to avoid looking at the girl’s face.

God, it was so awful.

“The cuffs—I can’t—” Victoria breathed, frantically.

“Hold on, hold on, we got you,” Kady said, brushing her fingers against the chains. She could feel the magic pulsing through them, holding Victoria in place, keeping her from traveling.

“Can you stand? Can you walk?” Penny asked as he started to examine the cuffs.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone else—in the next cell—”

Kady exchanged a glance with Penny.

“I’ll go look,” she said, pulling away.

Given how terrible Victoria looked, Kady was a little bit dreading whatever cruelty might be in the next cell. Heart pounding, she steadied herself by grabbing the door frame when she reached it.

There was no one there.

Tentatively, she took a step in—

She could see the signs that someone may have been there, but it was empty now.

A little creeped out, she backed out of the place. It felt like something dark was in there. Something twisted.

She got back to where Penny had removed the chains from one hand and was holding Victoria up.

“Can you get her other hand?” he said.

She nodded, and quickly began going through the hand motions.

“There’s no one there,” she said. “The cell is empty.”

“That—that doesn’t make any sense,” Victoria murmured, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned against Penny. “I heard…”

Kady looked at Penny. “It’s _empty.”_

He glanced at Victoria, who seemed to be completely passed out again. “Maybe she imagined it. We can worry about that later. We’re getting her out of here first.”

The remaining chains slipped to the ground.

\---

Julia tried not to geek out _too_ much about rescuing Jane from the trap, but to be fair, she was now officially a character in her favorite childhood series.

It was impossible to not be at least a _little_ giddy about that.

She watched Jane run off, shooting Quentin an excited smile.

Quentin returned it.

“If I remember right,” Quentin murmured to her, “it was about now that we found Martin.”

Julia nodded. She glanced towards the rustling in the trees behind them.

“We know you’re there,” she said gently. “It’s okay, come on out.”

There was a long silent moment of hesitation before Martin peered out from where he’d been hiding. He stepped forward, looking wary and suspicious.

“Why are you following my sister?” he said.

“We were trying to get to Fillory,” Quentin replied. “That’s what you were doing too, right?”

Martin looked at the ground, frowning. He looked younger than ever. Julia’s chest tightened a little.

“Hey,” she said, taking a slow step towards him. “Martin, right? We’re here to find you.”

“Find me,” he repeated, glancing up at her. His eyes were wide, with just a hint of tentative hope behind them. “Did Ember and Umber send you? Have they sent me a quest?”

Julia exchanged a look with Quentin. He looked grim, his brow furrowed.

“Well, I—” Quentin started slowly.

Martin took a step back. “Or are you here to cast me out again?” he said, his voice turning cold. “I won’t let you. I can’t go back.”

He started back away, flicking his gaze around as he looked like he was about to run.

“Wait, please,” Quentin said quickly. He put his hands up. “We’re not with Ember and Umber. We’re not here to take you back to—well. To take you back to England. We know it’s not safe for you there.”

“I can’t imagine how that must feel,” Julia said, earnestly. “To be cast out by this beautiful place by Ember and Umber when you haven’t done anything wrong. And you _haven’t_ done anything wrong. It’s not your fault Fillory stopped taking you.”

He stared at her. “How could you know that?” he replied.

“I just do,” she said. “Look, Martin. We’re from the future. We’re here to bring you back with us. If you want to come. We can help you find somewhere safe.”

“I don’t just want somewhere safe,” he said, his voice getting quieter as he looked back at the ground. “I just want Fillory.”

“Then we will help you find a way to stay in Fillory, if you just come with us,” Julia said. “I promise.”

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t have to decide right now if you want to come back with us,” Quentin said. “Look, we have something else to do here—just come with us while you figure out if you want to trust us. We don’t want to force you to do anything. We just want to help.”

Martin looked thoughtful. “What do you have to do?”

“Find this one knife-maker and ask him to make us a blade made of Moonstone,” Quentin replied. “It’s called the Leo blade.”

Martin nodded, furrowing his brow. “I’m familiar with that knife-maker.”

“Yeah, great, so help us find him,” Quentin said.

“You can figure out what you want to do later,” Julia added, gently. “Okay?”

Martin glanced between them, looking troubled. “Okay,” he said slowly.

\---

Huddled close together, they made their way through the Neitherlands, towards the Earth fountain.

Eliot wished Alice were taller as he hunched over. Their meander to find Josh had been largely silent and uneventful—this time, there were far more threatening-looking people lurking around.

They had to keep very, very quiet. A couple times, Alice had muttered to the group to huddle closer or to go a little to the left.

They were invisible, but they could still be heard—and Eliot kept holding his breath as narrowed, searching eyes scanned over them.

This was _not_ where he wanted to die. The gray aesthetic and the tilted feel of the ground was too surreal. He was very uncomfortable in this place, and he wanted to leave as soon as they possibly could.

And. There was the small factor of he wanted to make sure Quentin was alright.

Splitting up had, for the record, not been his idea—he would absolutely never have suggested it, because it was frankly distracting to worry about what was happening to the others.

At least he had Margo with him, so he knew _she_ was alright.

But he did not have Quentin. And until he saw Quentin in front of him again, with those big warm eyes and that sweet smile, he would not be able to rest assured that Quentin was alright. Flashes of images kept intruding in the back of his mind—really, irrational concerns.

This was supposed to be the safe part, which is why they’d all agreed to splitting up for the sake of simplicity and efficiency. None of the legs of this part of the plan required too many hands involved, and most, in fact, were better off with fewer people.

Like this one, because Alice’s powers were not limitless and she had to cover all of them.

Eliot would just be relieved once they’d gotten back and everyone was each in one piece. That was all.

 _There’ll be time,_ Quentin had said.

Eliot hoped that was true. He wanted there to be time, time to figure out what was going to happen. Time to talk, time to confess.

He didn’t know what he wanted to say to Quentin.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He knew _exactly_ what he _wanted_ to say to Quentin.

He wanted to really, truly ask him to stay. Just short of begging, frankly.

But Eliot knew he couldn’t do that—for a whole list of reasons. The obvious being it was selfish. Another being that it was completely unfair. Yet another being that ran the risk of Quentin saying no, and Eliot didn’t know how he’d be able to handle that. He wasn’t exactly a pro at handling rejection in the best of circumstances.

This was not, precisely, the best of circumstances.

He didn’t want to lose Quentin.

He was almost completely certain he was going to.

It was, to say the least, an unpleasant position to be in.

They reached the Earth fountain without incident, and Eliot could only hope that everyone else was having a similarly smooth time.

Margo slipped her hand into his. “The water’s gonna be fucking cold again,” she muttered to him.

“At least there can be the promise of a hot shower on the other side,” he replied.

\---

They took a rest in a sheltered cave while they waited for Victoria to recover enough to travel.

She was passed out, lying on Penny’s coat, using his scarf as a pillow. Kady had laid her jacket over Victoria’s shoulders.

Penny and Kady leaned against the cave wall together, staring out into the scenery of Fillory.

“Okay, I guess it’s kind of nice,” Penny said, a little begrudgingly.

Kady glanced at him. “I guess,” she said, her tone a little confused.

Penny sighed. “Q and Julia. They love Fillory. Or, at least, they love the Fillory they’ve got in their nerd heads. I’m trying to see what they see.”

“Ah,” Kady said, nodding. She leaned forward slightly narrowing her eyes at the trees. “I mean, I like forests enough. This is kind of just a forest, if you squint.”

“Maybe you have to already love it,” Penny said.

“Maybe,” Kady replied. “Did you ever read the books?”

Penny snorted. “Yeah, I didn’t have a lot of time for fun fantasy books growing up. I had other things going on.”

Kady looked at him, a curious expression. “Yeah,” she said. “I get it. Me too.”

He glanced at her, smiling a little. The tone of her voice, her expression. Yeah. She did get it. A familiar kind of understanding settled between them, the kind you don’t have to bring up. The kind that comes in gently. Penny found himself letting out a breath, his shoulders feeling more relaxed.

“Guess we didn’t really miss out though, huh?” Penny said.

“What, on having our childhoods ruined by finding out that our hero was a pedophile?” She snorted. “You know, I don’t really envy them.”

“Not much of a childhood there to ruin,” Penny replied. “Guess it’s one of those rare times we get to feel lucky.”

“Guess so,” Kady said.

They drifted into a comfortable silence for a while, watching the leaves in the breeze. It was almost peaceful, if you could forget about all the shit that went with it.

The peace did not last.

The pain was sharp, the noise in Penny’s ears feeling like a stab—he flinched, covering his ears like that would help when the noise was _inside_ him.

“Penny?” he barely heard Kady say in alarm.

“No,” was all Penny could say.

_Hello, William. Fancy seeing you here._

And Penny’s blood ran cold.

Because that wasn’t the voice he’d lived with his whole life.

That wasn’t the voice that had taught him those spells.

That wasn’t the voice he’d sought comfort from.

But it _was_ the Beast. Somehow.

And it was a familiar voice.

A voice he’d heard on another world, in a big, dark house full of echoes of the terrible things that had happened there. A voice that might have sounded kind if you didn’t know any better. A voice that Penny had hated from the moment he’d heard it.

A voice…

“We have to get fucking out of here,” Penny said, pulling at his hair like he might rip it out if he was any more agitated. “We gotta… We gotta see if… If Victoria is awake yet…”

Kady just nodded, eyes wide as she grabbed Penny’s elbow, helping steady him.

_Fuck._

\---

They needed the Leo Blade for the same reason they still needed the Rhinemann Ultra spell. It was all they had to go up against Ember and Umber. And they might need that sword Fen had given Eliot—which meant that they needed Fen, which meant that they needed the deal with the knife-maker.

It was all very confusing and frustrating.

Quentin, even as he made the deal, could feel how it was a lie.

He wasn’t going to let Eliot get forced into marriage again. He’d find another way. He didn’t know how yet; he just knew that Eliot being trapped like that wasn’t going to work for him a second time.

They’d managed to cause enough problems in Timeline 40 that the whole tethered-to-his-wife thing had sort of solved itself—Quentin was never a hundred percent sure how that had happened, but he wasn’t concerned with that right now.

They needed the Leo Blade. The Leo Blade require promising that a girl who had yet to be born would marry the High King. Quentin was going to find a way to work it out so that Eliot would not be involved in that.

They left the knife-maker’s house, Quentin feeling just a little queasy with how much he _didn’t_ know how to circumvent this specific issue.

 _One thing at a time._ How did they get back to the present again?

“Quentin,” Julia said, grabbing his arm. She pointed to one of the clock trees, with a familiar pocket watch and an even more familiar key hanging on a chain wrapped around a low hanging branch.

Attached to the chain was also an envelope, with _Quentin 9_ written on the front in cursive.

“I guess that’s for you?” Julia said glancing at him.

Quentin frowned. He supposed it was.

He wordlessly stepped forward, taking the envelope and opening it.

 _Dear Quentin 9,_  
_I am sorry that I cannot be present to assist you in your return to the present day this time. I trust that you have discovered the purpose of this timeline by now. I trust that you understand what is to be done. Probability spells and time magic are not infallible things, but they have given me some assurance that you will be able to accomplish what is necessary._  
_Please tell Martin that I am sorry I didn’t see. Tell him that I never meant to leave him behind._  
_Three turns and two clicks will get you back to your present. I will need the watch and key back._  
_With gratitude, love, and apologies,_  
_Jane Chatwin_

Quentin read the letter through several times, his frown deepening the more he scanned the page.

Well, fuck.

He absolutely fucking didn’t know what the purpose of this timeline was. He was still kind of making shit up as he went, and he was reminded for about the thousandth time that Jane Chatwin had let her plans hinge on the wrong fucking person.

He handed the letter to Julia.

She read it over, glancing up at him. “Um,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

She handed it to Martin. “We may have forgotten to mention that in the future we’re from, we’ve—well, Quentin, anyway, has met your sister, after she’s grown up.”

Martin studied the page for a moment, handing it back quickly like he didn’t want to look at it anymore. “I never blamed _her_ ,” he muttered.  

Quentin shook his head, gathering himself.

_One thing at a fucking time._

He turned to Martin. “We have a way home now. Please come with us. We really do just want to help.”

Martin pressed his palms together in a seemingly nervous gesture, looking away.

“Jane trusted us,” Julia told him gently. “You can, too.”

Brow furrowed and eyes a little desperate, he looked up at Julia. Quentin recognized that look—he’d seen it on himself enough times. Martin really _wanted_ to believe. Amongst all the pain and hopelessness and abandonment that had surrounded him, Martin was still grasping at the bits of belief he could find.

Which meant, as Quentin knew well, that it wasn’t too late.

It was never too late.

He offered his hand.

Martin took it.

Quentin smiled.

_Here we go._

\---

Eliot paced the length of the Cottage living room. Margo had, in fact, opted to immediately take a hot shower. So there was Alice and Josh sitting on the couch, and there was Eliot. Pacing.

“When are they supposed to be back?” Josh said mildly.

“It’s not like we had a schedule,” Eliot said, possibly in a shorter tone than was called for with such an innocuous question.

“We’ve only been back like, twenty minutes,” Alice said. “They should be back soon.”

She did not sound any calmer than Eliot felt. He glanced over at her. Her posture was rigid and her lips were pressed together as she stared ahead. He looked at her hands, clasped together in her lap, her thumb twitching.

Did _he_ look that anxious, he wondered.

Anyway, her stress at least gave him a way to redirect.

“Well,” he said, grandly gesturing. “Successful mission. Shall I make some celebratory drinks? House specialty, of course, I don’t believe you’ve had the Physical Cottage signature drink, Josh.”

“I have not,” Josh said, a pleased grin growing on his face. “That sounds awesome.”

Alice looked up at him. “I haven’t had it either.”

Eliot put a hand over his heart. “A travesty. I have clearly failed as a host, this must be rectified at once. What, pray tell, have you been drinking at the parties?”

Alice blinked, looking a little sheepish. “Well, I don’t drink much… And Kady made me mojitos.”

He shook his head, sighing. “I am so sorry, Alice.”

She frowned. “I mean, the mojitos were fine—”

Eliot put a hand up. “As a resident of the Physical Cottage, it is _necessary_ for you to partake in our signature drink.”

He went to the bar, preparing three drinks with the usual flourish. He left the ingredients lines up, ready for when the others arrived.

 _If they ever arrive,_ the most pessimistic and anxious part of Eliot’s brain muttered.

He shoved it away as he handed Alice and Josh their drinks with a smile.

He then downed about half of his own drink in one sip.

“You alright there, Eliot?” Josh said.

“I so hate to be the first one at a party,” Eliot replied.

It was at that moment that Quentin and Julia seemed to fall from the ceiling, accompanied by the kid Eliot could only assume was Martin.

“Thank fucking Christ,” Eliot breathed to himself, putting his glass down and rushing over to pull Quentin to his feet. He took a moment to help Julia and Martin up too before wrapping his arms around Quentin, ignoring any discomfort he felt about the shaky ground they stood on.

“Hey,” Quentin said, his voice soft as he hugged back.

Eliot pulled away, a little abruptly, but he kept a hand grasping Quentin’s shoulder. He studied Quentin’s face for a moment, the relief overwhelming him, before he managed to cover it up.

“Would you like some celebratory drinks?” Eliot offered, his voice _almost_ breezy and careless in that way he’d perfected. “Josh and Alice were just having their first taste of our signature beverage. I’d be happy to make two more. And one nonalcoholic version.”

Quentin put his hand over Eliot’s where it was still resting on Quentin’s shoulder, brushing his thumb against Eliot’s knuckles.

Eliot’s heart stuttered. Quentin didn’t even seem aware he was doing it as he absently looked towards where Josh was on the couch.

“I’ll take you up on the drink when Penny and Kady are back,” Quentin replied.

As if on cue, Kady and Penny appeared in the room, holding up a very disheveled looking girl.

Josh leapt to his feet, rushing over to them. “Victoria, V, God, what happened to you?” he said frantically.

Penny let Josh take his place holding up Victoria. Eliot noticed the panic in his eyes as he walked over and grabbed Quentin’s arm. Eliot pulled his own hand away as Quentin turned to Penny questioningly.

“Q, man, we’ve got a serious fucking problem,” Penny said, breathless.

Well, they just couldn’t catch a break, could they?

Eliot went to go make drinks for everyone. He thought he'd make them a little stronger this time.


	27. Aftermath & the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Things are happening sometimes.

Julia had dragged Penny back to her room above the library almost immediately, snapping at everyone that the crisis could _fucking wait._ Quentin had nodded, shushing everyone as they tried to ask what was going on— _we’ll be here when you get back—_ and Julia had all but fled. 

She’d seen the wild look in his eye, the way he kept wincing, the way he seemed breathless like he’d been running. The way his hands shook.

There was no waiting here; she needed to cast that spell again _right fucking now._

Penny hadn’t even protested when she’d grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. He hadn’t said anything—he hadn’t even looked at her.

She pushed him to her bed and he sat down without resistance, hanging his head and breathing heavily.

She ignored the twinge of panic in her chest.

The spell wasn’t exactly _simple._ It had been her own creation, an amalgamation of a few different kinds of spells, a few different specifics. It had taken serious concentration, and Julia felt a little unraveled.

Well, she needed to get ahold of herself, like, _now_. Because she couldn’t take much more of this.

She knelt on the floor in front of Penny, trying to look into his vacant eyes. She reached forward, lacing her fingers with his. “I’m here, okay? Just hang on, I’m handling it.” She took another moment, squeezing his hands lightly before pulling away and getting to work.

She worked as fast as she could, steadying her hands and focusing. Penny _needed_ her. She had to keep telling herself that so she wouldn’t fall apart.

When she finally completed the spell, Penny seemed to collapse in on himself, bringing his hands to his face.

“Hey, hey,” she said gently, kneeling in front of him and putting her hands on his forearms. “It’s okay, it’s alright, it’s over. I’ve got you.”

Penny dropped his hands, his upturned palms in his lap. She put her hand to his cheek and he glanced up at her, barely, before looking away.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she murmured. He slid off the bed and onto the floor in front of her.

“He—he was in my _head,_ Jules,” Penny said, staring at his hands. “It was the Beast, but—but it wasn’t Martin, it was _him.”_

She touched his wrist lightly. “Penny—”

“No, Julia, he was _in my head,_ I can’t—”

“Penny, Penny, breathe—”

“I _can’t—”_

“Okay, okay, I’m—I’m calling Q—”

“No, _don’t—_ ”

“You’re having a panic attack; he can help,” Julia replied. She knelt down further, settling on the floor on her knees. She ran a hand over his hair, the way she did with Quentin, but Penny leaned away.

She pulled her hand back.

“Listen, I won’t call him if you don’t want me to. But just consider it. For me. Okay?”

Penny gave the slightest nod.

He still wouldn’t look at her.

She felt shaky, off balance. If she was being honest, it wasn’t just for Penny that she wanted Quentin there. She wanted him there for herself, too.

She and Quentin had been talking one another down from panic attacks for years. They were very familiar with how to recognize it, how to handle it, how to help. Quentin’s were always more frequent than hers, but when it was her, he was her rock.

She kind of needed him. And honestly, she thought Penny might, too.

“Call him,” Penny murmured, barely audibly. He hung his head further.

Julia felt a stab of sympathy. She knew how much Penny didn’t want to admit wanting anything.

She called Q.

\---

When Quentin got to the loft where the Knowledge Students lived, the sun had just begun to dip, casting colors across the sky. It was a peaceful dusk, with a gentle breeze—altogether not fitting the mood in Julia’s room.

The heavy turmoil that seemed to darken the room.

“I’ll get everyone some water,” Julia said, ducking out of the room.

Penny was on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

He seemed unraveled in a way that Quentin had never seen him.

Quentin knelt down, sitting cross-legged next to him.

“Penny?” Quentin said, keeping his voice low.

“I’m _fine,”_ Penny said.

“Right, obviously,” Quentin replied.

“Fuck off.”

Quentin snorted. “Yeah, that doesn’t really work on me anymore.”

Penny shot him a look through his eyelashes before hanging his head again. “What doesn’t?”

“Your whole—” Quentin gestured. “You know. Scary-intimidating-badass thing.”

“Screw you, I’m scary.” Penny’s voice had a thread of amusement in it.

Quentin’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “Sure you are.”

“We could take this outside, I’ll beat your ass right now,” Penny retorted.

“Oh, yeah, you could totally take me,” Quentin said, leaning a little on one of his arms. “But like, you _wouldn’t.”_

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It _sounds_ like a fact.”

“Whatever, Coldwater.”

The short spark faded, dulling Penny’s voice again. Quentin stifled a sigh.

“Penny—”

“Look, I’m not—” Penny interrupted, with a short, humorless laugh. “We don’t have the time for this.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Is this how you and Julia feel when I say we don’t have time for _my_ freak-outs?”

Penny glare. “Shut up. We’ve got a problem, alright?”

“I know,” Quentin replied, his voice growing solemn. “I know. It’s bad.”

“I _knew_ we should’ve killed that motherfucker,” Penny went on with vitriol. “I fucking knew it.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Penny squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t—okay, I wasn’t paying attention, fuck, uh—tell me you got the kid out of there. Tell me the kid is okay.”

Quentin cracked a smile. “Martin’s okay. He came with us. He’s back at the Cottage.”

“Good. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“This is so fucked, Q.”

Quentin sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Penny glanced up. “So we’re not really friends where you’re from, yeah?”

“Not exactly,” Quentin replied.

Penny’s lips twitched into almost a smile. “Is it because you say shit like _we’ll figure it out_ when things go to hell?”

Quentin laughed. “Maybe. It used to be easier to say and believe.”

“Do you? Believe it, I mean.”

He hesitated. There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

“Right at this very second?” Quentin replied. “I think so.”

“You _think_ so. Comforting,” Penny replied sarcastically.

Quentin snorted.

Penny got a little more serious, meeting Quentin’s eyes and dropping the half-smirk. “I’m glad, though. That you can even kinda believe it.”

“Me too,” Quentin said. He shifted, frowning a little. “Not to, um. I don’t wanna push you or anything, but uh. Fuck, Penny. I can’t even imagine. Are you gonna be okay?”

Penny looked away. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Penny—”

“Drop it, alright? I’ve been through worse.”

Quentin clenched his jaw. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to explain how irrelevant _worse_ was when it came to something that gave you a panic attack.

“We’re going to fix this,” Quentin settled on.

Penny leaned up. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “And we better get fucking on it. Plover’s gonna fuckin’ pay.”

Quentin gave a brisk nod. “Let’s go, then. If you’re up for it.”

“Oh, I’m fucking up for it.”

\---

Babysitting was not typically the kind of job Kady was given.

But someone had to keep Martin occupied so he didn’t have to be in the room as everyone else talked about what to do about the new Beast situation with Plover. They hadn’t discussed it or anything—everyone was just on the same page about wanting to keep him out of it.

Quentin, Julia, and Margo all knew about Fillory and Plover. Alice was good at research. Penny knew about the Beast, and he was the Traveler. And Josh was taking care of Victoria.

Which left Kady and Eliot to take Martin into the city for ice cream.

Ideally, if they’d been trying to pick who was best with kids, Kady would not have suggested herself or Eliot. But here they were regardless.

Eliot, for his part, had surprised her.

“So!” he said grandly. “You’re a tourist for both this country and this time period. Is there anything futuristic and/or American that you’d like to see? We can find ice cream anywhere, so you can choose where we go.”

Martin had looked so shy as they left, but Kady could see how he was gravitating towards Eliot. Eliot was kind of impressive like that—he could draw people out, make them feel like they were his whole world for a little while. It was what made him such a good host.

Kady had just never seen it in action when there was no alcohol involved. She supposed it wasn’t really that surprising—Eliot was welcoming and kind when he wanted to be. He just never struck her as the _kid_ type.

He seemed like he’d make a pretty good dad, actually.

“Well, I’d like—” Martin started, hesitantly. He cut off, looking down.

Eliot smiled. “Oh, come on,” he said, conspiratorial. “You want to know if we have jetpacks, right? Alas, we don’t.”

Martin laughed a little. “Actually, I was, um. I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty?”

Eliot glanced over at Kady, meeting her gaze with an amused look in his eye.

She smiled back.

“Always a classic,” Eliot said. “And I happen to know a _fantastic_ ice cream place on the way. Shall we?”

\---

They huddled on the couches in the Cottage, taking up the entirety of the living room, much to the apparent annoyance of some of the other residents.

_Whatever._ Penny wasn’t a Physical Kid, so it wasn’t like he had a claim to the area, but he _did_ think that they were probably handling problems far more serious than the other students. So maybe they were monopolizing the studying area, but hey, they were trying to save a whole world.

Could the other students say the same?

Alice straightened up, clearing her throat as she scanned a page, her finger marking something.

Quentin closed his own book. “You’ve got an explanation?” he asked.

Alice glanced up. “Kind of. Time magic isn’t very understood, even by the Magicians that specialize in it. But it seems as though the theory is that the present _wants_ to happen, for lack of a better word. So when time Magicians go into the past and change things, they typically find that the sequence of events is rearranged to lead to a similar outcome, if not exactly the same.”

“So we stop Martin from becoming the Beast, and Plover takes his place,” Julia said.

“Fucking great,” Penny muttered.

“Bright side: we get to kill Plover,” Margo interjected.

Penny glanced at her with the barest smile. “You know what, that does make me feel better.”

“So that’s why Victoria and Josh were still in Fillory and the Neitherlands,” Julia went on. “Why we would still be rescuing Martin. Why we’re still in the situation to begin with. I get it, I think—it’s kind of like a failsafe for paradoxes. If certain aspects of the present are stubbornly unchangeable, then time travel doesn’t cause too much bending of reality.”

“Right,” Alice said. “The paradox still _exists,_ technically—because we still know what _would’ve_ happened, and we still did what we did, and things still _changed._ But it’s a stable paradox, if that makes sense? Bending reality without breaking it, maybe?”

Quentin rubbed his temples. “I _hate_ time travel rules,” he muttered.

“You and me both,” Margo replied. “Not to state the obvious, but what does it fucking matter? We’ve still got the Beast. Who cares why?”

Alice pursed her lips. “We should know as much as we can.”

“Knowing the background isn’t exactly a distraction,” Julia added. “Alice is right—we never know what knowledge might be the thing that saves us here.”

“Here’s what I wanna know though—how do we fucking kill the prick?” Margo replied.

“Seconded,” Penny said.

“Well, I guess we have to go back to Fillory,” Quentin said. “Get the Leo Blade.” He looked grim at the prospect.

“What’s the problem, Q?” Penny asked.

Quentin shook his head. “It’s nothing. Look, here’s the deal: we go back to Fillory present to get the blade. Then we’ve got the spell and the knife, which can both kill the Beast. _Then_ we face off against Plover. And then we figure out the shit with Ember and Umber and Martin.”

“Oh, is that all?” Margo said, crossing her arms.

Quentin shot her a look. “We’ve got a lot of people. We just have to set up, like, separate quests, alright? Make sure that this timeline, you know, doesn’t go to hell.”

Josh raised his hand. “Hey, um, not to derail this whole thing or anything because I’m totally a team player, but I feel like there’s, like. A lot of stuff I’m missing.”

“Right, we’ve gotta bring you up to speed,” Quentin said, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Okay!” Julia said, her voice strong, getting everyone’s attention. She got to her feet. “That’s enough. We all need to get everyone on the same page, get everyone some rest, and regroup in the morning. Got it? Got it.”

“Julia—” Quentin started to protest.

“Nope! We’re waiting for Kady and Eliot to get back and then—recap, rest, regroup. This is what we’re doing.”

Penny wasn’t going to admit he was relieved by the idea.

It had been a long fucking day.


	28. High King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl I was really excited to post this chapter

Julia took the lead on organizing.

At least partially because she wanted to organize it so that everyone else was gone.

She had _ideas_ about how to tweak with the Rhinemann Ultra spell to make it more manageable—either to rework it into a cooperative spell rather than an individual one, or to just make it more efficient and less taxing. Either way, she needed some peace and quiet, and the group was getting large enough to be unruly.

Besides, it made sense to send a larger group to Fillory for this one. It was going to be more dangerous each time they went, drawing more and more attention to themselves.

“The other problem,” Quentin was saying, “is that the Leo Blade can only be used by a Master Magician. It’ll burn any of us, so like, we need to. I don’t know. Juice up somehow.”

“Well, how did you do that last time?” Julia asked.

Quentin hesitated, shaking his head. “You seriously don’t want to know. I wish _I_ didn’t know. I can, um. I can figure _that_ out again, but uh… Anyone have literally any other plan? Seriously, _literally_ anything else.”

“Actually, maybe,” Kady said, glancing at Alice. She pulled out the journal they’d been using, flipping through it. “There’s this one plant. Pretty rare, but we might be able to find it if we trade with the hedges.”

Quentin pointed. “Okay. Good. Things are already looking up.”

Alice shot him a look. “Did you hear her say ‘rare,’ because I’m not convinced we’ll be able to find it. Maybe you’d better get whatever you used last time to be safe.”

He laughed. Julia studied him for a moment, furrowing her brow. He seemed, in general, a little more frantic than usual. There was something about _this_ part in particular that was getting to him but he seemed determined to not say anything about it.

“Hey, if anyone can find it, it’s you two, and trust me when I tell you that tracking down the plant is the better option. Besides, I, um. I’ve gotta go to the knife-maker. He’ll remember me, and if Julia isn’t going…” Quentin shrugged. Julia saw him glance worriedly at Eliot. _Huh._

Of course it had something to do with Eliot, Julia thought to herself.

“Alright,” Julia said. “So Kady and Alice, go see about this plant with the hedges. Victoria’s still recovering, so she can hang out with Martin. And I’ll work on this spell. The rest of you go to Fillory.”

\---

Alice was _incredibly_ tense as she left campus with Kady.

Kady hadn’t said anything to her. She wasn’t even acting any different. Alice was half wondering if she’d just, like, _imagined_ that kiss or something.

But she could practically still feel it, so she was close to certain that it had, in fact, happened.

She cleared her throat, finding the silence truly unbearable. “So. Hedge witches. Where do they trade? Also, what do we have to trade _with?_ Also, what do you think are chances of actually finding the plant are? I still think that Q maybe should’ve gone with what worked before, but he really seemed to think this long shot was worth it, so I don’t know, maybe whatever they did really was that horrible. Also, do you think we’ll see anyone you know there? Because, like, I don’t know any hedge witches, and—”

“Alice,” Kady said, glancing at her with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow. “Chill. You’re talking really fast.”

“Sorry. I just—sorry. I’m nervous. I guess.”

“Hedge witches aren’t scary.”

“Okay.”

“Really, Brakebills graduates are scarier. They’re the ones who had all those restrictions on magic that they’re suddenly interested in pushing the boundaries of, even when they have no idea what they’re doing. You should see the alumns that slum it with the hedges after graduation.”

“My mom said that no self-respecting Magician would stoop so low,” Alice said without thinking. Her eyes widened as she realized what had come out of her mouth. “Wait, I didn’t—”

But Kady was laughing. “Oh, man. That sounds like Stephanie alright.”

Alice smiled a little, relieved.

The stress was still making her heart beast fast. 

God, she was being so  _weird,_ and Kady seemed totally unfazed. 

\---

Before they’d gathered everyone to leave, Quentin pulled Eliot aside, out of earshot of everyone else.

“El,” he said, a little desperately. “Sit this one out. Stay with Julia and Martin or something. Or like, go—go catch up with Kady and Alice. Please.”

Eliot studied his face, curiously. A little taken aback. He’d noticed Quentin’s heightened nerves, but he just figured that was still about the revelation about Plover. He _certainly_ didn’t think it had anything to do with him. “What do you know?”

“Look, um, something happens and, I, well—” Quentin cut off with a semi-frantic laugh. “I was going to try to find a way to, um, fix it, or—or prevent it, but… I couldn’t figure it out, and um, well, just… Trust me.”

“Quentin,” Eliot said patiently. “I do trust you. But you’re going to need to tell me what happens.”

Quentin furrowed his brow, looking sad and a little scared. “So, um. Okay. The payment for the Leo Blade. It’s a marriage. The High King has to marry, um, the knife-maker’s daughter, and I…”

The room seemed to tilt a little as realization hit. The memories were fast and blurry, and he didn't understand all of them, but… “I got married in your timeline,” Eliot said, his voice flat.

“Yeah, and, uh—well, Fillorian marriages are like. They’re weird. And the rules for the High King are, well, um, weird. And I just—” Quentin cut off, running a hand through his hair. “You’d have to stay in Fillory. For, um, forever. You ended up back on Earth in my timeline, but I can’t guarantee any of _that_ would happen again, and I—”

Eliot stared at him. _Quentin_ was trying to get _him_ to stay.

Well, this was quite the role reversal. Considering Eliot had a great many speeches drafted and ready to try and convince _Quentin_ not to go back to Timeline 40.

A sort of strange conviction settled in Eliot’s chest. Well. If _he_ was the one to leave…

It was an awful way to think, really. Selfish. Petty. Frankly, short-sighted. But there was a kind of comfort to knowing that Quentin couldn’t really leave him if he’d already left.

And Eliot hadn’t yet tried to ask Quentin to stay, not _really_ , not the way he kept imagining. And despite all the pleading words that kept bubbling up in his chest, _stay_ and  _please_ and  _love_ and  _want,_ he still knew he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair, and anyway, there would be no point. 

“This timeline is different,” Eliot decided on. “Maybe things won’t be the same.”

Quentin tightened his hand around Eliot’s arm. “El—”

“It’s okay, Q,” Eliot said. He offered a slight smile. “I can take my chances.”

“Eliot, _please,”_ Quentin replied.

Eliot pulled his arm away a little. “Quentin,” he started slowly. “Are you going to leave?”

It was just a little too honest, what he felt like he was admitting here. A little too close to telling Quentin everything he felt.

Quentin frowned. “I—I don’t know.”

“If we succeed, if we fix things here and everything turns out better than where you’re from, will you actually _stay_ here?” Eliot couldn’t hide the bit of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Or will you go back? Where, by your _own_ admission, things have been falling apart?”

“Eliot, I—”

“Is this place, this timeline, is it going to be _enough_ for you?” _Am I going to be enough for you? Could I ever be?_

“Okay, you’re not being fair—” Quentin said, reaching forward.

Eliot stepped back a little. “I know,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “But none of this is _fair_. If I’m supposed to become king and marry a woman I’ve never even met and be trapped in another world forever, I’ll do it. And if you’re supposed to leave after things _finally_ become good here, well, then, do it, I suppose. Who the hell needs to be happy anyway?”

They stood there in a tense silence for a few moments, a few long, agonizing moments, as Quentin searched Eliot’s face. Eliot steadily made eye contact, feeling the pit of bitterness giving him composure.

To be honest, Eliot was pretty sure if he didn’t let himself be angry and petty and bitter, he’d just fall apart.

Because Quentin was going to leave, he was sure of it. And there was nothing he could do.

Maybe getting trapped in Fillory was his best option.

Quentin sighed, breaking eye contact and shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Eliot just barely cracked a wry smile. “In every timeline, I’m sure.”

A flicker of pain passed across Quentin’s face. He turned his gaze back to Eliot, and Eliot had to look away this time.

“El, you would be a spectacular High King,” he said, his voice bordering on gentle. “I _know_ that. I’ve got proof of concept. But you shouldn’t have to be trapped there. You deserve more.”

He nudged Eliot’s hand and Eliot glanced back over at him, his heart hurting when he saw the soft look in Quentin’s eyes.

That memory—

_Who gets that kind of proof of concept?_

“But, hey, you know, if you get yourself into _that_ mess, I guess I’ll have to stick around at least long enough to save you. Won’t I?” Quentin’s lips twitched up in a half-amused smile.

Eliot might’ve been imagining it, it might’ve been wishful thinking, but he thought he saw a bit of relief on Quentin’s face.

_Maybe, just maybe—_

_Maybe he wants to stay._

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Eliot said, his voice softer as he tried tentatively at teasing. “Swooping in like my knight in shining armor. We’ll have to get you a white horse and a sword and all that jazz.”

“Well, I won’t say it’s _not_ one of my fantasies,” Quentin replied.

Eliot smiled a little, registering how completely the mood had changed—

Registering how it had _almost_ been a fight, and now they were what one might even call _flirting,_ if one was being hopeful—

And he thought about all those memories. Of the mosaic.

Of the safety of fighting with someone when you knew it would never be able to ruin what you had together.

And he thought about those memories of longing, of falling in love, of kissing and having sex and laughing and flirting—

That wasn’t him, in those memories.

 _But—_ he thought to himself, a soft, barely-there thought, a quiet hope, maybe even a little petty, a little jealous— _it wasn’t Eliot 40 either._

It was a different timeline altogether.

Eliot glanced down, pushing his thoughts and feelings and the _Quentin_ of it all away.

It wasn’t only about them.

“Look,” he said, soft and serious. “Beyond all that… I can’t sit it out while everyone else risks it. If it’s _supposed_ to be me, should I really let someone else take my place? Would you?”

Quentin started to open his mouth, but nothing came out. They both knew the answer anyway. Quentin would always do the brave thing.

Eliot smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Quentin looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “I was _supposed_ to stop this kind of thing from happening to you. I was supposed to make this timeline better.”

“Oh, Q,” Eliot said, brushing a lock of Quentin’s hair back gently. “You already have.”

Quentin let out a short, frustrated sigh. Looking sad. Looking unconvinced.

Eliot’s heart ached.

“You know you can’t expect yourself to solve every problem, Q,” Eliot said. “Give yourself a break.”

Quentin clenched his jaw for a moment, studying Eliot’s face. “If you change your mind. You don’t have to go through with this. We can figure something else out.”

Eliot reached down, taking Quentin’s hand. “We’ll be fine,” he promised.

He meant it as much as he could, anyway.

\---

Kady hadn’t been back to the hedge witch marketplace in quite some time.

It looked the same as it ever did.

“Wow, there’s um,” Alice started, “there’s a _lot_ of people here.”

Kady shot her a slight smile. Alice seemed way jumpier today than usual.

“Just let me do the talking,” she said, brushing her fingers against Alice’s arm.

Alice coughed, sounding almost like she was choking.

Kady tried to hide her amused smile.

_So easy._

They’d have to talk about this kiss eventually, but there were more pressing matters, and Kady had to admit it—it was a _little_ fun to watch Alice be all weird like this.

Kady was glad for the bartering skills she’d developed when she needed, well, anything growing up. The trick was moving around fast and talking things up and not hitting the same place twice. Whatever you had could be traded, if you put the right spin on it.

And she and Alice still had some things left over from Mayakovsky’s office.

So she traded a simple charmed necklace for a magic coin.

Talked that up, and she traded the magic coin for a pair of cufflinks.

The cufflinks for a book. The book for a bottle. The bottle for a potion.

And so on and so forth.

She was also enjoying the look on Alice’s face as she smooth-talked the hedges, making anything she had in her palm sound rare and powerful.

The only issue was that as she asked about the plant—a rare fern, something that really only Travelers could get their hands on—she was met mostly with blank stares.

Until.

“Oh, I’ve heard of that fern,” one hedge said, a guy with tattoos snaking up his arm onto his neck. “That’s some expensive shit. You’re gonna wanna talk to Greta—she’s got all the plants.”

He gestured across the room, to a woman standing at a pretty bare table.

“Thanks,” Kady said, heading over with Alice trailing behind her.

The guy wasn’t kidding—it _was_ expensive.

It cost what they’d managed to barter for and basically the rest of their stash from Mayakovsky, except for those batteries they needed for Charlie. It also cost Kady having to give Greta her own version of the night-vision tattoo on Kady’s wrist, which took a bit longer than they’d wanted to spend in the marketplace to begin with.

But then they had it.

A jar of the fern that would make it possible to hold the knife that could kill the Beast.

Kady squeezed Alice’s hand, feeling a rush of pride and success.

“Back to the Cottage,” she said.

“That was _amazing,”_ Alice replied.

\---

The thing about altering spells was that you had to make sure you didn’t change what the spell _did._

In one of Julia’s classes, she’d been trying to tweak a Nature spell to make an orchid grow. The spell was needlessly complicated, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, required three people working together.

It was a completely ridiculous spell, and Julia was just trying to simplify it.

She—and she still didn’t know how this even happened—somehow ended up making it a pyrokinetic spell, turning the orchid into an on-fire orchid.

It actually still ended up being kind of cool—because the orchid was still a growing, living flower. It was just now also on fire.

The point was, Julia had to be careful. What she absolutely _didn’t_ want to do was somehow turn the Rhinemann Ultra into something harmless.

Victoria and Martin played Scrabble on the floor of her bedroom as she muttered to herself, flipping through pages of a battle magic book she’d borrowed from Kady, the cloth with the Rhinemann Ultra printed on it laid out in front of her.

Victoria and Martin made it through three games by the time Julia was done.

“Fuck yeah!” she said, leaning back against the wall when she’d found a way to make it a perfectly doable two-person spell. She glanced at Martin. _Right, kid in the room._ “I mean, uh, hell y—wait, also no. Heck yeah. That’s what I meant.”

\---

Getting to Fillory and the knife-maker didn’t take much time at all, and the knife-maker recognized Quentin right away. He said something about how long he’d been waiting.

They got glimpses of his daughter going in and out of the main house as they stood outside his studio.

Quentin and Eliot were acting a little weird, but Margo wasn’t really paying much attention.

She was interested in how this whole knife-that-only-drew-the-blood-of-the-true-High-King thing worked. It was the kind of thing that reminded her that they were in the land of her favorite fantasy series.

Margo stood at the edge of the crowd, her hands in her jacket pockets. The guys lined up, their hands out as they cast apprehensive or excited glances towards one another. Well, really, only Josh seemed excited.

 _Not quite fair,_ she thought, _that being male is the only prerequisite for this._

The knife-maker started at Eliot.

The knife went cleanly across his palm, no blood drawn.

“Huh,” Quentin said, frowning down at Eliot’s hand. They exchanged a glance, with a charge that Margo wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“This is another one of those things, isn’t it?” Eliot murmured to him, barely audibly.

When the knife-maker moved on to Quentin, Quentin jerked his palm back.

“Wait, I—” He sounded _afraid,_ which Margo didn’t exactly understand.

But the knife-maker glared, gripping at Quentin’s wrist and pulling his hand. He dragged the knife harmlessly across, and Quentin let out a sigh of bare relief. 

The knife-maker rolled his eyes at Quentin’s reaction before moving on.

Penny didn’t bleed.

And neither did Josh.

The knife-maker stepped back, frowned. “Well, I’m not sure what to do here. This wasn’t the deal.”

 _Well, there went their only viable plan_. Margo suppressed a sigh. Naturally. 

“Well, does it _really_ have to be the High King? Wouldn’t just, like, a regular king work?” Josh said.

“That _wasn’t_ the deal,” he repeated, starting to put away the knife.

“Wait, hold on. Wait,” Quentin said, putting a hand out. “May I?”

The knife-maker looked skeptical, but he handed Quentin the blade.

And Quentin made a beeline to Margo.

Startled, she stepped back. “What are you doing?” she said, feeling a little out-of-body.

“Just trust me,” he said gently. He reached forward slowly, like he was afraid she might bite.

But she let him take her hand in his palm. He rubbed his thumb against her wrist, nodding encouragingly. “Okay?” he said, his voice soft.

She could say no. Quentin was giving her the chance to. Honestly, she kind of _wanted_ to say no. She wasn’t sure what was happening. The fear tightening her ribs was unfamiliar.

“Okay,” she said, straightening her spine, forcing her shoulders back. She lifted her chin, steeling herself. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. And Margo wasn’t about to back down.

Her palm stung as he dragged the blade across it and she hissed in pain pulling back. Eyes wide, she stared at the blood blossoming.

“Well, this is highly unusual,” the knife-maker said, sounding mildly disgruntled.

But Margo couldn’t take her eyes off her hand. Her vision began to blur a little, with a confusing well of tears. _This can’t be right,_ she thought. _Something must be wrong with the knife. It shouldn’t be me, it shouldn’t be me, it doesn’t make sense._

“All hail High King Margo,” Quentin murmured to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She let out a shaky breath, looking up at him. She could feel how bare her emotions were, how open and visible she was. But she found she didn’t care. Let them see her reaction—fuck it, who _cared_ what anyone else saw.

“I don’t understand,” she said to him, her voice low, keeping it between her and Q.

And Q— _god, she was so glad they were friends—_ smiled at her like he _did_ understand. Like he _saw_ who she could be, in a way that she didn’t.

Margo never thought of herself as particularly insecure. She had a very healthy ego, plenty of self-worth. But only because she had constructed it herself, only because she had built who she wanted to be and decided she was going to like it.

But this—

This was something else. Some tangible proof that she was _more._

“You’re going to be amazing,” Quentin said, and it sounded like a promise. Like a prophecy.

Margo felt ten feet tall.

“Fuck yeah I am,” she replied, almost laughing.

“High King Bambi,” Eliot said. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

Relief settled into her, deep in her core. Margo never had trouble believing in herself—it was one of the things she did best. But having Q and El believe in her, so openly, so sincerely—

God, it meant the world to her.

And it _almost_ made her forget that the entire point of this whole thing was to decide who had to marry this random chick.

Well. Pros and cons.


	29. Fillorian Weddings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there, guys. We're getting there.

The fact that they had to _have_ a wedding was already pretty inconvenient. Penny didn’t really like weddings under any circumstances, but this just seemed like a waste of their time. Yeah, whatever, they needed the knife, but…

Penny was tempted to suggest that they just leave Margo to get married and get the Beast before something _else_ happens.

He was pretty sure that he’d get skinned and eaten if he suggested that to Margo and Eliot, though.

Which. Whatever. Yeah. You only get bargained into an arranged marriage in a fantasy land in order to get the crown and a magic knife once.

That didn’t mean Penny had to _like_ it.

And he certainly didn’t like the fact that they still needed to get Julia and Alice and Kady here, too. The plan was to dip immediately after the wedding to get the crowns and then head to the Wellspring to intercept the Beast.

According to Q, the Beast went to the Wellspring to get more magic every morning. Theoretically, the moment right before that was when he’d be at his weakest.

So they needed the plant and they needed the spell and they needed the rest of the group. And they needed to get all this the fuck over with.

“Well, we could, um,” Quentin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We could send a rabbit. To let Julia and Alice and Kady know.”

“Send a rabbit,” Penny replied flatly.

“Oh, right. Uh. Yeah, that’s how you communicate. Rabbits can travel to other worlds easily, so you like. Send messages with them.”

Penny looked at the sky, surprised he could even _get_ any more exasperated. “I hate this motherfucking place,” he muttered to himself.

“Or we just have Penny play Uber,” Margo interjected.

Penny shot her a glare. “Um, thanks.”

She shrugged.

“Well,” Quentin started, apologetically. “I mean. It _is_ the easiest way to get them here.”

Penny stared at him hard, but Quentin didn’t break eye contact.

“Asshole,” Penny said.

Quentin had the nerve to look a little _amused_ at that. “Like I said, we could send a rabbit.”

Penny rolled his eyes.

Fucking world-jumping talking rabbits. Fucking magic fantasy world bullshit. What the fuck.

Penny would rather play Uber.

With one last irritated scoff, he traveled into the Cottage.

Julia was cross-legged on the couch, Alice and Kady were talking by the bar, and Victoria and Martin were on the floor.

“Oh, good,” he said, his voice flat. “You’re all here.”

“Hey, Penny,” Julia said with a small smile.

“Hey, Jules,” Penny replied, softer. “You got the spell?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He turned to Alice and Kady. “You got the plant?”

Kady raised a small jar in response.

He looked down at Victoria and Martin. “You two gonna be alright here?”

Victoria nodded, offering a small smile. “We’re doing fine.”

“I’ve won three times in a row,” Martin said brightly.

Penny glanced down at the Monopoly board and then to Victoria. She shrugged a little.

“Good going, kid,” Penny said with a slight smile. He turned to the others. “Alright, we’ve got a wedding to get to.”

“A what now?” Kady replied.

\---

The preparations for the wedding swirling around them, Eliot took a moment to drag Margo aside, away from any prying eyes.

“Bambi,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Are you alright?”

Margo shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She flicked her hair back as though to prove the point.

Eliot’s lips twitched up in an almost smile. “Listen. I heard some troubling information from our Q about what a Fillorian wedding implies.”

Margo looked at him steadily. If he didn’t know her, he’d think she was completely unfazed.

“Marriage is different here,” Eliot said carefully. “It takes monogamy to, well, let’s say an extreme.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margo said, her tone almost dismissive.

“Very much until death do you part, I’m afraid.” Eliot furrowed his brow. “You won’t be able to be with anyone else.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Well, to be honest, neither do I,” Eliot said with a sigh.

She let out a small scoff of disbelief. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Eliot looked at her, seeing the fear behind her armor. He thought of what he’d said to Quentin—about how he wouldn’t want to make anyone take his place.

He knew it wasn’t quite the same, seeing as the High King here was Margo, in her very blood.

But he really wasn’t thrilled about the idea. Any part of it.

“There’s something else,” he said.

“Oh, is there?” she replied, an edge in her tone.

“It would appear that, in this new role, you would have to stay here. Forever.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Stay in Fillory,” she repeated. She didn’t seem upset, or afraid. She seemed like she didn’t understand the concept.

“That was my understanding,” Eliot replied.

“Like. Never go back to Earth?”

Eliot shook his head slightly.

Margo took a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back. “Well. Fully committing to my new job then,” she said briskly. “Being High King does seem like a full-time gig. It makes a certain sense.”

Eliot smiled a little. She never ceased to impress him.

“Can I just admit how much I hate this?” he said quietly.

Margo glanced at him, her eyes bright and wet. “What, did you want to marry me?”

He took her hand, kissing it gently. “Oh, our love goes beyond the bounds of marriage, darling.”

“King,” Margo said, smiling despite the shine of tears in her eyes. “Better than a fucking princess, huh?”

Eliot made a show of bowing to her, keeping it earnest. “Royalty suits you. Long live the king.”

She laughed a little, the tears spilling over down her cheeks. Eliot straightened back up, brushing her cheeks gently with his knuckles.

“She seems like a nice enough girl and all,” Eliot murmured. “But I don’t know that I’d think anyone was good enough for my Bambi.”

“Well, of course not,” Margo replied.

\---

Quentin wasn’t _exactly_ worried about Margo. She was bulletproof, and she was probably the best High King Fillory had ever had. And she certainly didn't need him to try and protect her. But he wasn’t _not_ worried about her either.

He hung by the edge of the crowd, half-hiding behind a tree so no one would ask him to do anything.

He didn’t like weddings much.

He perked up when Eliot came back from checking in with Margo.

“How’s she doing?” Quentin asked, his voice low.

Eliot gave a noncommittal shrug. “Handling it better than I would have, I’m sure.”

“You were pretty amazing actually,” Quentin said. “You took it in stride.”

Eliot turned, looking a little surprised.

Quentin offered a brief smile. He glanced towards where Margo was talking to the knife-maker, her chin raised. She did look like a monarch. “Royalty suits her.”

“Oh, she’ll be marvelous.”

“Can I, um, just admit, though—” Quentin said, shooting Eliot a quick glance “—how _relieved_ I am that it isn’t you?”

Eliot smiled a little. “Guess we won’t be needing that white horse after all, hm?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Quentin said, looking up and squinting slightly. He was pretty reluctant to lose the excuse to stay. “There’s, uh, still plenty of time to get in more danger after tomorrow. To, like, I don’t know. Find a new crisis I’ll need to stick around to fix. Right?”

“Hm, we can always manufacture one if, miraculously, nothing comes up.”

Quentin let out a snort of laughter. “I’m sure something will come up. Something _always_ comes up.”

“Or,” Eliot said, voice light and casual, “you could just stay.”

Quentin turned to him, furrowing his brow. A little surprised, really.   

“I’m not asking you to,” Eliot added quickly. “Or telling you to. Just. If you _wanted_ to.”

Quentin saw then tension in Eliot’s face, the way he avoided eye contact.

“I don’t even know if it’s up to me,” Quentin admitted. “Whether or not I stay here.”

He looked at Eliot, meaning in his gaze.

God, _Eliot._

Quentin loved him so much the idea of leaving hurt.

And he loved him so much the idea of staying hurt.

There was no winning.

“The point is,” Quentin said, miraculously keeping his voice steady, “it might not matter. What I want, I mean. I might not get to choose.”

When Eliot finally met Quentin’s gaze, his expression was opaque. Quentin couldn’t read it at all.

The distance between them felt strange—Quentin felt like there was more he didn’t understand about Eliot 9. So much that he hadn’t learned. So much left to figure out. It was a whole new life they could have, but—

“But if it is up to you…” Eliot started, kindly. “What do you want?”

Hopelessly, Quentin sighed. He leaned against Eliot a little.

“Honestly?” he said. “I never made it that far.”

Eliot let out a soft sigh and put his arm around Quentin’s shoulder. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Quentin’s forehead gently. Quentin closed his eyes, feeling his anxieties untangling just a little.

“I don’t pretend to understand how hard this is for you,” Eliot said, slowly and carefully, his words deliberate. “And I think you know where I stand on the whole matter. But, truly, I just want you to make the choice that’s right for you.”

The choice that was right for him.

_What a concept._

He rested his head against Eliot’s shoulder, feeling both at home and lost.

“Thank you,” he said into Eliot’s neck.

“For what?” Eliot replied.

“Just… You.”  

There was a long beat of silence, still and calm. “Oh,” Eliot ended up saying, his voice soft. He stroked Quentin’s arm gently, pulling him a little closer in.

\---

Margo ignored the way that the knife-maker seemed to scowl.

She was, after all, apparently only going to get married once, and damn if she wasn’t going to at least try to enjoy it. The pretty, soft lights, the pretty girl, and the way everyone was looking at her. It was a wedding alright. 

It wasn’t what she’d pictured. Then again, Margo always sort of imagined herself getting divorced more than she’d imagined herself getting married.

Marrying a stranger was certainly never in the cards.

As Fen walked down the aisle, avoiding eye contact, Margo figured that she’d never really wanted to marry a stranger either.

A stab of sympathy went through Margo for the girl—

Fen had been told her whole life she was fated to marry the High King.

Margo wondered what she’d been picturing.

She figured that _she_ was absolutely not what this girl had been imagining at all.

Margo swallowed that thought, pushing it away.

She was going to be High King. She wasn’t going to let _anything_ make her feel inadequate today.

“Margo,” Margo introduced, offering a hand to the girl. She tried to give a kind or encouraging smile, but that was never really her strong suit.

Fen looked apprehensive, but she put her hand on Margo’s. “Fen,” she replied softly.

“Great to meet you,” Margo said. “I never thought _that_ would be part of my wedding vows.”

Fen let out a short, sweet laugh, and Margo felt a little better about the whole thing.

She wasn’t in the business of forcing women to do anything they didn’t want to do. She hoped that was good enough. She might not have been the tall, handsome princely type that Fen had presumably been hoping for, but at the very least, Margo was _far_ from the worst case scenario for this girl.

She was determined to be a good husband.

“You ready to get this show on the road?” Mago asked, squeezing Fen’s hand.

“As I’ll ever be,” Fen replied, too quietly for their audience to hear.

Fen’s hair shifted in a gentle breeze, and the moons were bright enough to cast shadows. There was a lot going on that Margo hadn’t been prepared for, but she wasn’t afraid.

Margo felt, miraculously, like everything was going to turn out alright. For all of them.


	30. Crowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _we're getting there, guys, a l m o s t t h e r e_  
>  (also, thank you all for sticking with me through all this, I'm Going Through It)

Margo felt a little strange leaving right after her own wedding, but she supposed there would be plenty of time to get to know Fen. Considering they were, well, married. Theoretically, they’d have the rest of their lives. Especially if what Eliot had said was true.

 _God._ What was her life?

 _It’ll be easier, in general, if we’ve got the crowns to prove it. Just in case,_ Quentin had said.

So here they were, off to get the crowns.

In the middle of the night, because they had to get to the Wellspring by dawn.

The Rainbow Bridge was probably more spectacular in the daytime, when you could see all the colors, but the soft light of the few bioluminescent flowers lining the path was pretty beautiful. If only there were time to admire it.

Margo already loved Fillory so much.

It felt so right to be here, though she was largely avoiding the reality of never being able to go home.

It would be okay. She could be at home here.

As they reached the other side of the bridge, coming to a clearing, Margo saw the chest where the crowns were presumably stashed.

She started to step forward but Quentin stopped her.

“Wait for it,” he said with a sigh.

She waited. After a few moments, she turned, raising her eyebrow at him.

“What am I supposed to be waiting—” she tried.

“HALT!” a dusty voice called.

“There it is,” Quentin said.

“Who goes there?” A pale, skeletal man came into view.

Margo glanced at Quentin questioningly.

“You’re going to have to prove it,” he said. “That you’re the king, that you’re a child of Earth.”

“What the fuck? Getting my palm fucking sliced wasn’t enough?”

“Just, uh,” Quentin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “um, nineties references. Just like. Throw some out, or whatever.”

“What the fuck,” Eliot muttered. Quentin shrugged.

Margo turned to the apparently dead crown-guard or whatever. He looked at her expectantly.

“Um. Okay. Give me a minute.”

She took a deep breath, channeling the bits of theater she remembered from high school. She closed her eyes, trying to focus.

She opened her eyes and sharpened her gaze, clearing her throat and flicking her hair back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Margo started, putting all the emotion she could into it. “Poor little rich girl, what does she know about misery?” She took a breath, with a quick frustrated sigh. “It was my whole world and all the people in it and the _inertia_ of my life. It, plunging ahead, and me—powerless to stop it.”

She took a step forward, a little desperately, putting out her left hand.

“Two _hundred_ invitations have gone out, all of Philadelphia society will be there. And all the while I feel I am standing in the middle of a crowded room, _screaming_ at the top of my lungs and _no one_ even looks up.”

“Damn, Margo,” Quentin said, sounding impressed. Margo shot him a smile.

The guard smiled brightly, bowing to her. “Your Majesty.”

Margo could get used to _that,_ for sure.

“Titanic? Really?” Eliot said and they headed for the crowns.

“What? Rose is a badass,” Margo glanced at him, clearing her throat and putting her Rose voice back on. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay? His ideas of the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”

Eliot laughed. “Oh, Bambi. You would have _that_ line memorized.”

“Never know when it might come in handy.”

“I suppose so.”

Quentin opened the trunk and Margo stepped forward to look at the crowns. She got a little mesmerized, staring at them.

Imagining what her future was going to be now.

“Margo,” Quentin prompted, bringing her back to the present. “You get to pick the other three.”

Margo cleared her throat dramatically and held out a hand to Eliot. “Well?”

Eliot offered a small bow. “Anything for you Bambi,” he replied.

Margo turned to Quentin. “And what do you say?”

Quentin, much to her complete shock, took a step back and shook his head. He looked regretful, a little sadness in his eyes as he offered her a small, hesitant smile. “It can’t be me,” he said. “I was never a very good king anyway. I’ll happily be your royal advisor, or weird friend who hangs around too much, but… I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Margo pulled her hand back, surprised by the ache in her chest. “Oh,” she said, her tone a little bare as she forgot how many people were there. “I guess I thought…”

Quentin shrugged with only one shoulder. “You’re an amazing leader, Margo. You were always going to make it to the throne. But I’m not meant for this.”

“Quentin—” Eliot started, softly.

Margo glanced at Eliot’s furrowed brow, the pain in his gaze.

She straightened up, nodding briskly, covering her own feelings. “Well, who else wants to be goddamn royalty?”

Alice and Kady stepped backwards immediately.

Margo rolled her eyes and turned her gaze on Julia. “Well?” she said, and she reached out a hand.

Julia damn near had sparkles in her eyes. Margo recognized the childhood-dream look in her eyes as she stepped forward and took Margo’s hand, curtseying slightly. “I’d be honored,” she said. Margo was impressed by the strength in her voice.

Margo offered a small genuine smile to Julia before covering up again quickly.

She snapped her gaze to Penny. “You.”

He looked startled. “What?”

“You. We need a fourth. C’mon.”

He glanced over at Quentin like Quentin might say something to save him, but Q just shrugged.

Penny half rolled his eyes as he walked over, standing close to Julia.

“Alright,” Margo said, flicking her hair back and lifting her chin. “Here we go.”

\---

Quentin knew he’d made the right decision. It wasn’t a question of whether he was going to leave after all this was over. Regardless of whether he stayed in Timeline 9 or not, he couldn’t take the throne. It wasn’t where he belonged.

He didn’t want to run a country. He just wanted to get a handle on his own life, really. It was going to be enough for him. It would have to be.

The childhood dream of being a king of Fillory could stay that: a childhood dream. A notion he’d had when he still believed that if his life were only a little bit grander, a little bit more magical, he’d be able to be happy. When he believed a quest or a purpose or a destiny was what was going to save him.

But that wasn’t how it worked. Being king of Fillory would never be able to make him happy. Quentin wanted to learn how to be happy himself, with any life he could have.

There was something quietly brave about wanting peace for once.

However—

The childhood dream of crowning Julia queen was very much a reality. And now, the dream of crowning three of his other best friends, too.

“Look, we should make a bit of a ceremony of it,” he insisted to his friends, before anyone could reach into the chest, knowing no one else was about to make that suggestion. “You’re all only going to be crowned royalty once.”

Kady raised a hand. “Do we have time for this?”

“Yes, alright? We _make_ time for it,” Quentin said. He walked to the crowns, head held high.

\---

“Kneel down,” Quentin hissed at her.

Margo snorted a little, feeling just the tiniest bit ridiculous.

But she’d never admit how much she’d wanted to make a ceremony of it, too. She’d never be able to thank Quentin for being the brave one, the one who was willing to look a little ridiculous or childish. Margo never would have insisted on making this a moment. She was ready to just toss the crown on like any other accessory and head off.

She smiled up at Quentin as she knelt, hoping he knew that she was grateful. That she loved him, for this and for, well, everything else.

“Margo,” he started, his voice earnest and kind as ever. “They don’t know it yet, but you are _exactly_ what this kingdom needs. You’re stubborn and ruthless and _brilliantly_ smart.”

“Well, of _course_ I am,” she replied.

Quentin laughed. “Will you let me finish?” He smiled at her fondly, and she couldn’t help but smile back, her vision blurring just a little from the emotion.

“I don’t want to blow your cover or anything, but you’re also kind and fair and warm. When you want to be. Royalty suits you, Margo. You’re going to be _such_ an amazing leader. I can’t wait to see it.”

_I can’t wait to see it._

_So he’ll_ be _here to see it,_ Margo thought to herself, feeling a bit of relief.

She wouldn’t say she _needed_ him, exactly. Just that, well. She wanted him around.

“Any preference on a title?” he said, raising the crown a little.

Margo held her chin up. “Magnificent has a nice ring to it.”

He nodded, lowering the crown onto her head.

She took a shaky breath as she felt the weight of it all.

“I dub thee,” Quentin said, “High King Margo. The Magnificent.”

\---

 _Fuck all of this,_ Penny thought to himself.

He knelt in front of Quentin anyway.

Whatever. He’d humor the guy. This nerdy bullshit was just the type of thing that Quentin loved, so. Might as well.

But honestly, who in their right mind would want _Penny_ to be a king?

He knew who he was. He knew _what_ he was. Being a Traveler meant he’d never really have a home or a family. He’d never really belong. He loved Julia. He loved Quentin. He even liked the rest of these people. But his life, it wasn’t going to work like theirs.

Quentin putting a crown on his head wasn’t going to change that.

“Penny,” Quentin started. “You know, I know this isn’t exactly what you pictured. Being king of a fantasy land.”

“No kidding,” Penny muttered.

Quentin shot him a look, but it was warm. Penny glanced away for a moment.

He felt ridiculous.

“But I know you’re going to be damn good at this,” Quentin continued. “Dude, Fillory should be so lucky to have someone like you on the throne.”

Penny snorted a little, raising an eyebrow.

But Quentin shook his head, looking serious. Looking like he meant every word.

“It was _you_ who insisted on saving Martin,” he said. “It was you who could see that we could do better, that we _had_ to do better. _You_ were the one that knew what the right thing to do was. Honestly? I can’t think of someone better to finally make Fillory the safe place it was meant to be. You’re a good guy, Penny.”

Penny’s heart beat hard in his chest.

He didn’t really know how to react.

He didn’t really know what to say.

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

But it turned out he didn’t _have_ to say anything.

Quentin gave an encouraging smile, and the faith in his eyes, the faith he had in _Penny,_ well…

It made the world feel like it had stopped turning, for these few moments.

“I dub thee,” Quentin said, and Penny couldn’t even find it in him to find the words nerdy and ridiculous, “King Penny, the Just.”

\---

Julia’s turn to be crowned snuck up on her.

It all felt so surreal.

“Julia,” Quentin said, grinning. “We’re in _Fillory._ And you’re about to become _queen.”_

She smiled back, genuinely, openly, as she knelt down. _God,_ it was pretty amazing, wasn’t it?

“I’ve known you since we were kids,” he went on, glancing to the crown in his hands. “And you’ve always been remarkable. Smart and funny and kind. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He faltered a little, letting out a short laugh like he was covering.

“Q—” Julia started, but Quentin shook his head.

“I have known you for what feels like forever,” Quentin said. “And I’ve _always_ known that you were going to do something amazing. Because wherever you go and whatever you do, you always manage to be exceptional.”

Julia swallowed, feeling more emotional than she’d expected to.

They’d been kids together. And look at them now.

“I’ve been calling you Queen Julia since we were playing pretend as kids. And this, you know, now, it just. It feels _right._ Being here. I’ve always thought you belonged in a crown.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Julia replied, her voice light.

Quentin smiled at her. A wide, open, eye-crinkling smile. He looked…

_Happy._

Julia smiled back.

Magic was real.

“I dub thee—”

“Nerd.”

“Shut _up._ I dub thee Queen Julia, the Merciful.”

\---

If there was something Eliot could typically appreciate, it was ceremony and presentation. He certainly liked the idea of crowning Margo with some respect and reverence, letting her have this moment.

And Eliot could also typically appreciate the benefits of being the center of attention.

But right at that moment, he felt a little hesitant about the entire ordeal.

If he was being honest, he felt somewhat self-conscious.

But he knelt in front of Quentin anyway. Trying, at least a little, to let himself have this moment, too.

“So destiny is bullshit,” Quentin said with a wry smile.

 _Way to quote your own memory,_ Eliot thought back at him, giving a knowing smirk.

“Things are so fucking random sometimes, you know? Like. All of this. It’s _insane,_ that any of this is happening.”

“You’re telling me,” Eliot replied.

Quentin smiled down at him, earnestly, with affection in his gaze, and Eliot pulse raced faster.

“Eliot,” Quentin said, his voice soft and reverent. “You are an amazing person. You’re welcoming, and generous, and _spectacular_. And, for what it’s worth, you’re going to make a _really_ good king.”

“Sounds familiar,” Eliot murmured.

“It’s true in every universe,” Quentin said, “how incredible you are.”

Eliot swallowed, trying to smile up at Quentin through the tears that were caught in his eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” Quentin said. His voice had gotten softer, a little weaker. Eliot’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out and take Quentin’s hand. He didn’t. “But I do know that whatever happens, you’re going to be great, because you always, _always_ are.”

Eliot almost wanted to say something self-aggrandizing or self-deprecating, but he didn’t let himself. This moment was too precious.

“I dub thee,” Quentin said. “King Eliot. The Brave.”

\---

Alice sighed. If she was being honest, she was kind of bored. She leaned towards Kady. “I feel like we didn’t need to be here for this,” she muttered.

“Probably not,” Kady whispered back. She turned, shooting Alice a grin. “But hey, at least we’re here together.”

Josh, meanwhile, looked like he was completely checked out and daydreaming about tomatoes that tasted like pizza or something.

It was a soft, peaceful night—indulging the ceremony in the starlight.

But they all knew what sunrise would bring.


	31. The Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are.

Dawn was breaking by the time they made it to the Wellspring. Margo stopped, staring at the unimpressive outhouse-looking shack.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” she muttered.

“I’m really not,” Quentin said. He didn’t exactly remember every moment Fillory disappointed him, but he did remember that it had happened a _lot_. It wasn’t like he’d pictured. Because it was a real place, not a fantasy, and real things…

Well, they sucked sometimes.

Fillory was nonsensical, and ridiculous, and fucked up. But, for all its faults, Quentin still thought it was beautiful. And it still certainly deserved to be saved from the monster that was trying to control it. So here he was, stepping up like he did in every timeline. Because how could he not?

Quentin tried to push away that bit of nagging fear, that voice that kept reminding him where he was. This was a previous timeline. He remembered what he’d said to Fogg and Jane, with bitterness and resentment, when he’d spoken to them after he’d learned.

 _You’re the one who told me that in every timeline before mine, people die. My friends die. And now I’ve been dragged back here to watch_.

He tried not to think of all the times he’d seen people die. He tried to push away the images—

Images of Alice burning up in blue fire, of Penny’s body after the Poison Room, of Eliot’s golem falling to the ground.

When he’d learned where he was, what he’d been pulled back to, he’d been certain of it. He was going to die; they were all going to die. He was trapped in this hellish existence where he couldn’t actually help anyone—where he’d be forced to watch his friends die at the hands of the Beast, one by one.

He’d been _certain_ of it.

And now?

Well, who knew?

He’d had a surge of belief, a bit of optimism, a quiet _maybe_ in the back of his mind, but…

His tentative confidence was wavering. His belief was strained. His anxieties were through the roof.

He hoped they could win. He _hoped_ their fates weren’t written in stone.

Destiny was bullshit after all, right?

Time travel rules and time loop lore was kind of all over the place on that subject. Quentin was trying to avoid going down the nerdy rabbit hole of flipping through every fictional universe he knew where time loops were malleable.

It didn’t matter, he guessed. It was too late to back out now.

Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

Maybe everything would be okay.

Maybe things would work out for once in their fucked-up lives. Maybe they’d win, maybe they’d be safe, maybe they’d be happy.

Maybe they deserved it.

“Well. Places, everyone, I guess,” Quentin said, pushing his hair back. “He’ll be here soon.”

 

The inside of the shack was larger, opening up into a full room.

It was a room Margo had only seen in pictures, but she was very familiar with it. She knew those shelves. She knew that desk. It was Plover’s writing room, in that house that she used to daydream of visiting one day.

She’d lost the desire to see the place, but here they were anyway.

“Huh,” Josh said next to her. “Bigger on the inside. Cool. Like the TARDIS.”

Margo, in an act of true self control, did _not_ roll her eyes at him.

“That desk is where he wrote the books,” she said, half to herself. “And this room is where he traumatized that kid.”

Josh got quiet for a moment. “Oh.”

She wanted to set the place on fire, a little bit, but she knew it wasn’t _really_ that room. As it was, she would never see it. That room was, well, on another planet. It was far away, preserved as a museum for all those people who didn’t know the truth.

This was not that place. This was Fillory. It was the Wellspring, the heart of the magic in the land that was now _hers,_ and she needed to protect it.

“Let’s get started,” she said, shaking out her hands to start casting layers of wards on the door.

Josh stood beside her, readying his own hands.

“The Beast is like, definitely going to be able to break through these,” Josh said as they started.

“This is just a failsafe,” Margo replied. “We’re buying time.”

“Guess we’re like, the last line of defense, huh?”

Margo grinned. “Just like chess. Because I’m the motherfucking king.”

“Amen, your Highness.”

 

Alice was _tense._

Her job was simple—no way could she fuck it up. But she felt so restless and insignificant.

All she had to do was bend the light around herself, Julia, and Eliot, so Julia and Eliot could cast the Rhinemann Ultra together without being seen. It was simple. It was what came naturally to her.

She took a deep breath, putting her hands in position.

She’d offered to cast the spell with Julia—she’d _wanted_ to—but Quentin pointed out that since light-bending was _her_ discipline, she should be the cover.

She hated that he was right. She just had to keep still, doing her best to protect Julia and Eliot while they did the _real_ work.

Okay, so Alice wasn’t great at playing backup. She felt like she should be doing _more._ It didn’t help that Kady and Quentin were the distraction, which…

Well, it meant they were taking the biggest risk. And Alice was not a fan of that.

She kept glancing over at them, anxious and unsteady.

Kady was a Battle Magician, she kept telling herself. If anyone could handle this, it was her.

Alice focused in, bringing her gaze to her hands. She couldn’t look at Kady and Quentin. She just couldn’t.

 

Eliot was mostly following Julia’s lead. Her quick, precise hand movements were exact and steady. He focused on the spell as much as he could, _knowing_ how important it was.

But he was, well, distracted by the fact that Quentin was standing in front of the Wellspring, just completely out in the open.

 _Vulnerable_ was the word that kept coming to Eliot’s mind, as his heart beat hard against his ribs. Quentin stood brave and strong, his hands tensed and ready. He didn’t look afraid. How the _hell_ was he not afraid?

Eliot supposed he was afraid enough for the both of them, and possibly afraid enough for everyone else in the general vicinity. Afraid enough for the whole of Fillory. With any luck, there wasn’t any fear left to hold anyone else back.

Okay, so maybe Eliot was being a tad dramatic.

But Quentin was in immediate, direct danger. A type of danger that had, apparently, gotten him killed in nearly every timeline.

 _Including this one,_ a desperate voice said in the back of Eliot’s mind.

Close to everything in him wanted to abandon his post and stand directly in front of Quentin. So much of him wanted to put himself in the line of fire, so that it wouldn’t be _Quentin_ getting hurt.

He didn’t think that came from any bravery in him. More from cowardice, really. Because seeing _Quentin_ get hurt was a much more horrifying thought than getting hurt himself. He’d be less afraid, if he were the one most likely to…

If Eliot was being honest with himself, he knew what the brave thing to do was. The brave thing was staying where he was, completing this spell like he was supposed to. Trusting that Quentin could protect himself. The brave thing to do was _stay here_.

And Quentin had dubbed him King Eliot, the Brave.

He wasn’t sure he deserved the title. But if Quentin believed it, well…

He could try. He could try to earn that faith.

He spared a glance towards Quentin, his hands still moving with Julia’s.

_God._

Quentin, with his hair pulled back into a bun, his eyes glaring ahead as he waited. The hard line of his mouth, the crease between his eyebrows. Maybe he’d chosen not to take the crown, but Eliot could certainly see him as a king in that moment.

Fucking hell, Eliot was so afraid.  

 

Kady flexed her hands. She glanced towards the trees, where she knew Alice and Eliot and Julia were. She couldn’t see them, which was, well, _good_ but less than comforting.

She took a breath. She wasn’t scared.

Battle magic was her department. She had this under control.

And as long as she and Quentin kept the Beast preoccupied, everyone else was going to be safe. They didn’t have to beat him. They didn’t even have to _hurt_ him, really. They just had to keep him busy without getting hurt themselves.

Kady could do that.

It was the building anticipation that was insufferable.

Kady had just started getting that bit of anxiety that Quentin was wrong, that the Beast wouldn’t be here, that they would have to go find him—

When Plover showed up, moths swarming his face.

 _Well_.

Kady thought of Martin, of that sweet kid she and Eliot had taken into the city. Of his nervous smile, and his shy questions. How surprised he’d been when they let him get sprinkles with his ice cream.

Rage boiled in Kady’s stomach.

She was going to enjoy throwing some goddamn fireballs at this jackass.

 

The Beast stalked towards them, looking them up and down. “Well, well, well. Fewer of you than ever before, I believe,” he said. “And honestly, a wildly unimpressive pair.”

Quentin clenched his jaw. The moths flew around his head and he had to focus on not flinching.

“Oh, you _are_ different,” the Beast said, curiously. He tilted his head and his eyes glinted. “Little Jane has such _interesting_ ideas.”

Quentin didn’t reply. He just held eye contact.

_Distract, that’s your only job._

The Beast studied him further and Quentin’s skin crawled.

“Hm. And yet, you’re the same. No _real_ change. Just Jane clinging desperately to a new trick. Sweet girl. Not very bright.” There was something that almost looked like pity in his expression. “I suppose she believed manipulating your mind would do the trick.”

“Are you done villain monologuing?” Kady said, her tone flat.

Plover didn’t take his eyes off of Quentin.

“Tell me, Quentin. Do you know who you are?”

It felt like such a strange question to ask that Quentin was briefly thrown off balance. He blinked, almost curiously.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I confusing you?” the Beast said, his voice a kind of condescending faux-polite. “I’ll rephrase. Do you know whose mind you have? Do you know what’s real, in all those sets of memories of yours? What really _belongs_ to you?”

That… didn’t make anything clearer.

 Quentin almost wanted to ask what he meant. He almost wanted to ask for an explanation.

But honestly?

Whatever knowledge or insight Plover might or might not have wasn’t worth it. Quentin didn’t want _anything_ from him. He’d rather just not know than learn it from _him._

“We’re not here to talk,” Quentin said steadily. “We’re here to stop you.”

Plover had the nerve to look confused. “ _Stop_ me?”

As a reply, Kady conjured a fireball in her hand. The Beast barely gave it a glance.

“Must you truly _stop_ me? I just love Fillory, is that so wrong?” the Beast said, approaching slowly.

“You don’t deserve it,” Kady retorted. “And you aren’t _capable_ of love.”

The Beast paused, narrowing his eyes at her. He smiled slightly. “You understand so little.”

He raised his palm, fingers pointed, and Quentin felt recognition in the back of his mind. That motion—was that…? Was that the spell from when, in another life, the Beast had sliced Penny’s hands off? Plover’s eyes were on pinned on Kady.

_Fuck._

Quentin couldn’t let _that_ happen.

He started to move quickly through a basic battle magic tut, trying to hide his hands.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Plover said, snapping his face toward him.

With a wave of the Beast’s hand, Quentin was thrown against a tree, hitting hard.

 

Eliot’s hands faltered for a moment as he felt like all the air rushed out of his lungs. Out of the world, really. Watching Quentin fall was like a blow to the chest.

“Eliot,” Alice hissed, “focus.”

He swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he tried to keep his hands from shaking.

He couldn’t let his hands shake.

He caught Julia’s eye and saw his own fear reflected back.

The brave thing to do was finish the spell.

Julia had given him the simpler side of things, but it wasn’t like the spell was easy. It wasn’t a familiar sequence that his hands might remember, nothing he could do casually or carelessly. Each movement was specific. He couldn’t get anything wrong.

Not for the first time, he wished he and Quentin could’ve switched jobs. He wished Quentin would’ve agreed to it when he’d offered.

As it was, it was too late for that.

The brave thing was to trust Kady and Quentin.

Eliot took a breath.

His gaze connected with Julia’s again.

They had to finish the spell. Whatever else happened, that’s what their job was.

 

Kady felt her rage spike, watching Quentin hit the tree.

 _Oh, fuck you,_ she thought viciously, throwing the fireball at the Beast.

He stumbled back, and she conjured and threw another one with some satisfaction. Moths burned up in the flames, but when the smoke cleared, Plover was untouched and smirking.

“Overconfident, aren’t you two?” Plover sneered. “Bet you thought you stood a chance, Battle Magician.”

She clenched her jaw, sending another fireball flying.

The impact of the blow forced Plover backwards again, but the flames weren’t touching him.

“Please, do keep trying, dear,” he said, laughing. “It’s admirable.”

As he straightened back up, he sent a blow right back to her, meant to slice her chest open. She cast a shield charm before it could hit her, linking her pinky fingers together.

_Distract, all you have to do is distract—_

She tried not to worry about how ineffective her spells were here. That wasn’t the point. Julia and Eliot were the ones casting the spell that could hurt him.

Kady spared a glance at Quentin.

He was moving—just barely. It looked like he was struggling to get back up.

Feeling her ribs tightening and her stomach twisting, she sent another fireball flying at Plover.  

 

“So, what, do we just wait?” Josh asked, staring at the door. They’d layered on several wards and charms, though it would probably only buy them a few minutes if everyone out there ended up failing.

If that happened, the plan was to use those extra minutes to drink from the Wellspring themselves and hope for the best.

As far as a last resort plan, Margo figured it could be worse.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

She walked slowly towards the center of the room, finally letting herself really examine the well.

It looked like any well in any storybook she’d ever seen, complete with some ivy growing up the side of it, somehow. The vines glowed slightly in the low light from the one lamp on the desk.

 _Huh,_ Margo thought, peering over the edge.

There was blue light, shining up from way down there. It felt like miles away.

“There’s almost nothing in here,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Josh followed her to look. “Whoa. Weird. Glowy water.”

Margo pursed her lips. “Yeah, but there’s so _little_ of it. Like the Beast really has been sucking the magic out of this place.”

She wondered how much longer it would’ve sustained him for. How much longer this small barely-more-than-a-puddle would really last. Interesting time to be coming into power, she supposed. It seemed like she might have her work cut out for her.

 

Quentin’s ears rang, and he brought a hand up to the back of his head, feeling blood on his fingers. Everything stung so much, he didn’t have it in him to get concerned.

He looked up, the edges of his vision going white.

_That didn’t take long—_

Quentin pushed himself up to his knees, with an astounding amount of difficulty. Grasping at the tree, he managed to get to his feet.

Gathering everything he had in him, he pulled his hands together, trying to aim through the blur, and he sliced his hand through the air.

The battle spell grazed the Beast’s cheek, just barely drawing blood.

The Beast let out a short, humorless laugh. He took a moment to freeze Kady in her tracks and send her flying backwards until she hit the door to the Wellspring. Then he turned his full attention to Quentin.

“I am growing weary of you, Quentin Coldwater,” Plover said icily. “And how you just _keep_ coming back.”

His fingers did a quick motion, like clenching his fist, and all the air went out of Quentin’s lungs.

Quentin’s vision went even spottier and he fell back to his knees, trying desperately to gasp. His fingers grasped at the earth, and then at his own neck, like if he could only get a solid grip on something, he’d be able to breathe again.

 _Well, I guess this is how I die in this timeline,_ he thought, surprisingly calmly considering how his chest was burning and how his throat was burning.

Well. He’d known how it could end. How it _would_ end. He’d known all along, hadn’t he?

 

Julia refused to look. She refused to get distracted.

She’d altered this spell, this was _her_ responsibility. She needed to keep focus. She _desperately_ wanted to look over and see how Quentin and Kady were faring, but it wasn’t like she’d be able to do anything to help if they needed it.

What she needed to do was finish this spell and cast it at the Beast and get rid of him for good.

Quentin was counting on her. Fillory was counting on her.

She could do this.

She glanced up at Eliot and immediately wished she hadn’t.

She supposed she didn’t _need_ to look over at Kady and Quentin, because Eliot’s slack ashen face told her that whatever was happening was less than ideal.

She _couldn’t_ worry about that.

And frankly, neither could Eliot, though his fingers were still skillfully going through the motions, even through his distraction.

She took a breath.

She couldn’t control everything going on. She could only control this.

The spell was going to work, it _had_ to.

And it was almost ready to go.

 

Kady got to her feet fast, scrambling up in time to watch Quentin clawing at his throat. She threw another battle spell towards the Beast, but he deflected it without looking at her, his other hand hovering in the air, tightening his fingers together.

“Fuck,” Kady muttered. He was going to suffocate Quentin if she didn’t do something.

Sometimes, she decided, magic wasn’t going to cut it.

She rushed over, as fast as she couldn’t without drawing his attention and she smashed her fist into the side of his face.

He stumbled over, bringing his hand up to his cheek, breaking his hold on Quentin.

Quentin collapsed further into the ground, wheezing, his shoulders shaking.

Kady positioned herself in front of him as the Beast straightened up again, clenching her jaw.

“Don’t touch him,” she hissed through her teeth.

His lips curled up. “Oh, _interesting,”_ he said. “Friends, are you?”

She glared. Rage was itching at her skin.

The Beast moved fast, stepping to the side and slicing his fingers through the air, sending the spell towards Quentin.

Kady lunged.

And the spell hit her, slicing through her shoulder.

She fell to the ground, pressing a hand over the wound, blood welling and seeping into her clothes.

Kady assessed the pain quickly, realizing fast—

The cut wasn’t that deep, there wouldn’t be any permanent damage, it wasn’t _close_ to the worst injury Kady had ever had—

It was basically just a graze—

Which meant—

_Fuck—_

Quentin had probably still gotten hit.

 

Eliot made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, watching the battle spell graze Kady and hit Quentin.

_Fuck, no, please—_

“Q—” he said, not meaning to.

“Kady—” Alice said at the same moment, her hands starting to move.

“Focus,” Julia hissed, “we’re almost there, just one more second—”

And the Beast turned, slowly, his head tilting to the side as he looked in their direction.

“What’s _that_ I hear?” he said.

 

Eliot and Julia had almost completed the spell, the Rhinemann Ultra was geared up—

Julia was a split second from finishing the casting and launching it at the Beast, the Beast who was approaching slowly, calmly, cold curiosity in his eyes—

When suddenly, she couldn’t move anymore. Her feet were frozen to the ground, her arms still up in position. Only her eyes could move, and she caught Eliot’s gaze.

Eliot, who was also frozen in place, looking as panicked as she felt.

The Beast walked slowly, his six fingered hand held up, keeping them in place. And he waved his other hand, pulling Alice to the ground and dropping their invisibility. Alice started gasping like she couldn’t breathe.

Julia glanced towards Quentin and Kady. Kady was on her knees, one hand clutching her shoulder. She was turning to look at Quentin—

Who was collapsed on the ground.

_Fuck._

Julia couldn’t—

She couldn’t—

“Well, hello there,” the Beast said, his voice smooth and smug.

He gave them a twisted smile and Julia felt queasy.

And Plover walked towards them, inspecting the spell frozen in the air.

“Oh, how _interesting,_ ” he said, putting a hand to his chin. “To think—you could have actually _won_ this time. Remarkable.”

He shot a glance back towards them and smirked. With a flick of his hand, the Rhinemann Ultra fell to pieces, the near-finished spell erased in midair.

Julia looked on hopelessly as it vanished.

_One chance, so make it count,_ Quentin had told him.

One chance. Plover didn’t seem easy to surprise.

Penny was supposed to wait until the last possible moment, thinking that would be when Plover was at his most distracted. Penny couldn’t afford a second of hesitation, a moment of awareness. And he couldn’t miss.

If the spell failed, he had to go when Plover wasn’t expecting it.

Kady and Quentin were on the ground.

Alice was on the ground.

Eliot and Julia were frozen.

And Plover had just destroyed the spell.

And Plover was stalking towards Julia.

And Penny felt the black pit of anger growing in his stomach.

 _Don’t you fucking dare,_ he thought.

It was time. The magic the fern had given him felt like it was buzzing on his skin. He had to move, and he better have good aim. Their only backup plan after this was hoping Margo and Josh could make something up on the fly.

This ended _now._  

Penny traveled directly in front of Plover, stabbing the Leo Blade right between his ribs, directly in his heart.

Maybe Penny could’ve said something profound, or badass, or smooth. He’d seen action movies—the protagonist often had some killer line when they stabbed someone. A quotable, badass moment.

Here’s what Penny went with:

“Fuck you, pedophile motherfucker.”

The look of shock and confusion in the Beast’s eyes was satisfying.

“How—”

Penny pulled the knife out and stabbed it in again, shoving Plover to the ground.

“All I wanted—” Plover started to get out, his voice weak.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Penny spat. “No one gives a shit about your last words. Fucking die with them.”

He leaned down and sliced the blade across Plover’s neck, rendering him speechless.

And then Plover did what he was told.

He died.

Penny felt a hand on his arm, and he dropped the knife as he straightened back up.

He looked down, his blood-covered hands shaking.

“Motherfucker deserved it,” he muttered.

“Penny—” Julia started. She slipped her hand into his, ignoring the blood.

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

Well.

It was over.

Penny waited for the satisfaction to wash over him. He waited to feel like he’d _won._ He waited for the celebratory mood to open up above them. Laughter, smiles, cheers, _something._

It didn’t come.

The only thing that settled around them was the quiet.


	32. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally wait until I have a draft of the next chapter to post one, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for long. Felt mean. Anyway, the next chapter might take a little longer.  
> (Also--thank you all for your kind words last chapter, I'm always nervous posting action-y things)

Margo was looking into the well when everything flickered around them.

“Um,” Josh said, his voice strained.

The room looked like it was made of static, the walls fuzzy and the furniture glitching. Margo’s eyes widened, moving around the room as the apparent realness of it faltered and warped. That desk, where the Fillory books had been written… Those bookshelves, with the magic books hidden among them…

Everything was falling away.

As the room vanished around them, a different sort of atmosphere surrounded them. Stone walls, cool and dark.

The well still looked like a well, but in the place of the desk that had been just beyond it stood twin altars.  

“What just—” Josh started. He cut off, his eyes widening in realization. He looked at Margo.

She was already grinning. “The Beast’s hold on Fillory—”

“They _did_ it—”

They both burst out in semi-giddy laughter, looking at each other, at the Wellspring, at the altars.

“Well, fuck,” Margo said, letting out a heavy breath. “Let’s take down these wards and go see how the fuckers managed.”

 

The moment the Beast fell, the moment Eliot unfroze, he took off, running straight to where Quentin was, at the edge of the clearing. He closed the distance in a matter of seconds, but it felt like forever.

“Q, Q, are you alright? Q?” he said, breathless as he knelt down, leaning over Quentin.

Quentin was on the ground, his hands pressed over where he’d been sliced in his abdomen. Blood was soaking into his shirt, and his breathing was ragged.

“Oh, fuck,” Eliot said. He took off his jacket, using a quick spell to tear the sleeve off. He bunched it up, pressing it against the wound. “Quentin, Q, shit.”

Eliot reached out one hand, keeping the other firm. He brushed the soft, stray hair out of Quentin’s face. Quentin’s eyes were squeezed shut and he inhaled sharply as Eliot’s fingers touched his face lightly. _God, Quentin._ Eliot let his thumb rub against Q’s cheekbone, praying to whatever fucking gods might care to let him be alright.

“Quentin,” Eliot said, softly, gently.

“I’m fine,” Quentin said. The relief of hearing his voice was overwhelming, but it was weak, croaky. Like his throat had been crushed.

“You’re _not,_ okay, you’re not—but you will be, you’ll be fine,” Eliot replied. He could hear how his own voice was shaking. _God, why couldn’t he remember any healing spells?_

Quentin almost laughed, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “Better than I thought I’d be,” he said, his voice cracking. His eyes fluttered open. In spite of everything, they looked warm and bright as always.

Eliot threaded his fingers through Quentin’s hair, his heart pounding like crazy. Tears were welling in his eyes, getting caught in his eyelashes.

“Fuck, Quentin,” he breathed, leaning down, curling in on himself just a little.

“How are we—I mean how can—” Quentin tried to get out.

“Shh, Q, don’t—”

“Fuck, El, we should— _I_ should be, how did—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright, just—”

“But I—” He choked, bringing a hand to his mouth. “I’m supposed to _die.”_

“You’re absolutely not. Fuck destiny, remember?”

Quentin actually did laugh this time, a noise of disbelief, sounding just a little more capable of breathing.

“Guess so,” he said.

Eliot put his palm against Quentin’s neck, the comfort of Q’s pulse against his skin. “It’s going to be okay.”

Quentin blinked a few times, his eyes going wide. “Fuck. It is, isn’t it?”

Eliot let out a short breath of laughter. He was _exhausted,_ and Q was hurt, and he could really go for a cigarette, but…

Everything was going to be okay.

 

Alice was gasping for breath on her knees.

She didn’t know how long the Beast had a hold on her throat, but it felt like she’d never get enough oxygen back in lungs.

At least she could move again, but the only sign of that was how hard her hands were trembling. She clenched a hand around her locket like a lifeline. More than ever, she could feel Charlie’s soul there. Like he’d been protecting her the whole time.

“I got you,” she heard Kady say. She felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

After a few more heaving breaths, she managed to look up.

And felt a jolt of energy.

“ _You_ got _me?”_ she said, her voice high and disbelieving. “You’re bleeding!”

“What?” Kady glanced at her shoulder. “Oh, right, no, I’m fine.”

Alice stared. “You’re _bleeding,”_ she repeated.

Kady shrugged with her uninjured shoulder. “I’ve had worse.”

Alice just barely resisted the urge to hit Kady’s arm. She might’ve if she wasn’t still feeling like she needed to focus all her energy on breathing.

“What?” Kady said. “It’s _fine._ I’m fine. Q got hit worse than I did.”

“You’re—you’re bleeding, your shoulder—” Alice stammered out. “Wait, you said—Q, is Q okay—Kady, your _shoulder,_ what do you mean you’ve _had worse,_ what does _that_ matter—we need to, uh, get you to a hospital—wait… Fillory. Hospitals. Do they have those? We should, um—”

“Quinn, chill, it’s alright. We’re _alright_.”

“ _Are_ we?” Alice asked, a little sharply. She kept her eyes on Kady’s shoulder. Which was, for the record, _bleeding._

Kady reached up, brushing her fingers against Alice’s neck. “Well. _Are_ you alright? You were cut off from breathing for a minute there. You didn’t lose consciousness, did you?”

“What? No, I—”

“Good, because—”

Not thinking straight, still breathless and shaken, Alice leaned forward abruptly, pressing her lips clumsily to Kady’s.

She pulled away again before Kady could even react.

“So. Well. There’s that.” Her voice came out awkward and stilted.

Kady stared at her and let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Quinn, you’re something else.”

Alice almost smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“You should,” Kady replied. She kissed Alice lightly on the cheek. “For now, we gotta make sure you’re okay and go see how everyone else is.”

 

_Okay, one thing at a time._

Penny wasn’t going to deal with what just happened. He’d won; that’s what mattered. He ignored the way he was off balance.

Penny tore his eyes away from his bloody hands for a moment to look at Julia.

She was looking at him with such warm, soft concern. Letting out a breath, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her closely for a few moments. She buried her face in his shoulder.

He pulled back, gripping her shoulders and inhaling sharply.

“Quentin,” he said.

“I don’t—” she started, her voice trembling.

He nodded briskly, turning and pulling her towards where Quentin was on the ground, with Eliot over him.

Letting go of Julia, Penny knelt on the ground. And tried his best to pretend like he wasn’t freaking out, like he wasn’t worried.

“Q, buddy, your one job was to distract and _not_ get hurt. Nice going.”

Quentin snorted. “Fuck off.”

Penny cracked a bit of a smile. Okay, so he couldn’t be hurt _that_ bad. His voice sounded rough, and the wound didn’t look _good,_ but he wasn’t _dying._

Penny was about to ask Eliot to move his hands so he could try and assess the damage, but then he remembered that his own hands were covered in blood. And they started shaking again.

He crossed his arms, trying to cover, and glanced up at Julia. “Jules? You were pretty good at healing magic, right? Wanna take a look?”

Julia put a hand on Eliot’s shoulder, who in turn shifted away to give Julia some space, never taking his eyes off of Q’s face.

“I don’t—” Julia started shakily. “I don’t remember it super well, but…”

Quentin shot her a half-smile. “It’s cool, no rush or anything.”

She let out a breath. “God, you’re a dick.”

“Yeah, well. I’m bleeding.”

“You’re fine. Walk it off.”

“Your concern is touching, Penny. Love you, too.”

“Shut the fuck up, Coldwater.”

Julia flexed her hands, preparing a tut. “This might hurt, Q.”

Quentin winced, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Haven’t I been through enough?”

Penny raised an eyebrow, but he was having a hard time hiding the fondness. “Yeah, I’m real sympathetic. Suck it up.”

“Harsh.”

Julia rolled her eyes, smiling a little. A bit of relief washed through Penny, seeing how her nerves seemed to have settled. Eliot, too, looked like he was holding it together a little bit better. He still had his eyes glued to Quentin, but there was a glimmer of fond amusement with the concern.

The lightness of the moment faded when Julia started going through the spell and Quentin seized up, hissing in pain and swearing under his breath.

Penny almost reached out to touch his shoulder until he caught a glimpse of the blood on his hands again. He jerked his hands back and crossed his arms again. His eyes briefly connected with Eliot’s, but he looked away fast.

“Sorry, Q,” Julia said, scrunching her nose.

“It’s—fuck—it’s fine, I’m fine— _fuck, shit, ow,_ I’m alright— _god, what the fuck—”_

“It’ll just be a minute,” she said.

“Oh— _fuck—_ is that all?” Quentin replied, letting out a half-frantic laugh and squeezing his eyes closed. “ _Shit,_ I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Penny said flatly. “You’re fine.”

Eliot shifted, brushing Quentin’s forehead gently and stroking his hair back. “Just hang in there, Q.”

“Easy for you to say,” Quentin replied, but some of the tension was already fading from his face.

“I don’t know that this is working,” Julia said with a frown.

“Are you _kidding me?”_

“I’m sorry, I’m not a Healing student!”

 

The sight wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was far from the worst case scenario.

Kady could hear Quentin’s voice—complaining—which meant that he was almost certainly going to be fine. She heard Alice let out a sigh of relief next to her.

“Well, _I_ don’t know!” Julia was in the middle of saying, animated. “I did the spell like I remembered it!”

“Look, it’s—fuck, _fuck,_ ow—it’s _fine,_ just—”

Kady stepped forward, standing just behind Julia.

“It’s a two person spell,” she said, noticing Julia’s hands.

Julia started, turning sharply. “Shit, don’t sneak up on me.”

“Sorry,” Kady said with a wry smile. She looked over at Penny and Eliot, who were crowding around Q. “You two. Back up. Like, several yards.”

“But—” Penny started.

“Now,” she said sharply.

Eliot stroked Quentin’s hair back before getting to his feet and stepping away. Penny took a moment to glare before he followed suit.

“Alice,” Kady said softly as she crouched on the ground. “My, um, my arm isn’t super functional, so I’ll walk you through this, okay?”

Alice followed her down, settling on her knees. She eyed Kady’s shoulder. “I got it. But what about—”

Kady smirked a little, amused. “If it’s _really_ that important to you, we can do my shoulder afterwards. Quentin first.”

“I’m not gonna disagree with that,” Quentin piped in, his voice strained.

Kady sushed him. “Yeah, yeah, hold it together, Coldwater.”

“You people aren’t very sympathetic.”

“Whatever, we’re saving your ass.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks. I guess.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

Quentin started to laugh but cut off with a wince. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Ow.”

Kady felt a flicker of guilt, seeing the pain in his expression and the blood on his shirt. She hadn’t moved fast enough.

She pushed it aside—it was fine, he was going to be fine.  

“Alright,” she said, taking a breath. “Let’s do this.”

 

Penny and Eliot hovered a little ways away, so they could still see what was happening. Quentin was going to be okay—Penny could breathe a little easier.

He still kept crossing and uncrossing his arms, restless and fidgety and no less shaky.

Eliot gestured slightly towards Penny’s hands.

“May I?” he said. “I’ve got a simple cleaning spell handy.”

Penny shoved his hands out in front of him, not making eye contact. “Knock yourself out.”

Within moments, Penny’s hands were spotless. Like it had never happened. He crossed his arms again.

“Thanks,” he said with reluctance.

Eliot looked at him, brow furrowed. “Listen, Penny, I… Well, I know that, um. I know what it’s like—”

“The motherfucker deserved it, let’s leave it at that,” Penny said.

Eliot took a breath, his gaze flitting up and away from Penny. “I’m trying to ask you if you’re okay,” he said, slowly and carefully.

Penny snorted. “Oh, I’m fantastic.”

“Right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Mm.”

“We won.”

“That we did.”

Penny flexed his hands. They didn’t _feel_ clean. “And he _deserved_ it.”

“He did,” Eliot agreed easily. He paused, glancing at Penny. “You didn’t.”

Penny turned, eyes narrowed. He studied Eliot’s face.

The things that Penny knew about Eliot were limited. Most of what he knew was, well, through Quentin. He’d probably never have even talked to the guy if it wasn’t for Q.

“I don’t regret it,” he said, somewhat sharply.

“I don’t think you should,” Eliot replied. He took a breath. “Can I tell you something personal?”

Penny just shrugged, a little confused.

“I killed someone once.”

“What?”

Eliot looked down, brow furrowed. “I was a kid. He was… Well. Suffice it to say that I was not always so well-liked. And there was one boy in particular who tormented me.”

The morning light was shining through the trees, burning away any lingering mist. It was almost peaceful.

Penny watched Eliot close his eyes for a moment, letting out a quick sigh.

“He was crossing the street. There was a bus coming.” Eliot glanced over at Penny, their eyes connecting. He looked grim. “I barely thought the thought. And then… He was dead. It’s how I learned I was telekinetic.”

“Shit.”

“I’m not saying it’s the same. I’m just saying… I kind of get it.”

It was so strangely quiet, the air so strangely loose. Empty of the tension that had been hovering.

And yet this moment felt so heavy.

“Kid sounds like he had it coming,” Penny said, half-heartedly.

The barest smile played about Eliot’s lips. “Maybe. But I’ll never get that image out of my head.”

Penny looked down at his hands.

He’d done the right thing. He could take comfort in that.

“It’s just—well, if you ever want to talk…”

He glanced at Eliot. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

_Holy shit, they’d all lived._

It was the only thought going through Quentin’s mind other than _ow._

The Beast was _dead,_ and they weren’t. It wasn’t _possible._

Quentin hadn’t realized quite how much he hadn’t believed they were going to win until this moment. He hadn’t realized how slim his hope was, how weak his optimism.

Fuck. God. He never really believed they could do it. He never really believed he wasn’t going to die.

How was it _possible?_

He was giddy with it. What the hell did this _mean?_ For any of them?

He couldn’t really get around to analyzing or theorizing because, well—

Two very much _not_ Healing students were in the middle of patching him up.

Which, while appreciated, _fucking hurt._

Quentin briefly considered amputation until he remembered it was his stomach that was injured.

Alice dropped her hands with a sigh, leaning back. “I think that’s the best we can manage.”

Kady studied Quentin’s abdomen for a moment. “Yeah, probably.” She sat up, craning her neck. “Hey, Waugh!”

Eliot came over in seconds. “Yes? What do you need?”

“Your tie,” Kady said.

Eliot pulled it off without hesitation, handing it to her.

“Lean up, Coldwater,” she instructed. She tied it around his waist, securing the torn sleeve to his partially-healed wound. “It’ll probably be okay, but just in case.”

“Alright, and now we’re doing your shoulder,” Alice told Kady briskly.

“Careful, it’s gonna hurt more than the spell,” Quentin interjected. “They are _not_ Healing students.”

“You could _thank_ us,” Julia said, hitting his arm.

Quentin laughed. God, the sun felt so bright. The grass felt so green. They were _alive._ They were _all_ alive. Nothing else mattered, not yet.

 

It didn’t take as long to take the wards down as it did the put them up, but it was slightly tedious. Given how eager Margo was to see how everything went. Make sure Eliot was okay. And Quentin. And she _guessed_ Julia too. And, whatever, everyone else.

She was impatient.

When the wards finally came down, she and Josh burst through the door of the Wellspring.

Everyone was gathered in a loose crowd, on the other side of the clearing from where the Beast lay dead in the grass.

Margo rushed over, Josh close behind her.

“Well?” she said, a little out of breath.

She scanned the group.

Eliot looked fine, but his jacket and tie were gone. Penny looked sullen, but unharmed. Kady had a cut on her shoulder, but it looked alright. And—

Her eyes landed on Quentin, who was sitting on the ground in a bloody shirt, Eliot’s tie around his waist.

“The fuck happened?” she asked briskly.

He smiled at her, eyes bright. “We won, that’s what happened.”

She let out a laugh. “And all it cost was your ugly shirt?”

“Hey,” he protested, but he was laughing, too.

Something in the air felt like it unraveled, and everyone seemed to let out a collective breath. The breeze was warm, and the grass was curling around them. Julia collapsed onto her back, sighing heavily and smiling at the sky. Eliot went to his knees and patted Q lightly on the head. Alice started trying to protest something to Kady, but Kady silenced her with a soft kiss.

Margo and Josh exchanged a glance and they burst out laughing.

 _We saved my kingdom,_ Margo thought, a little giddily. Because she was the _king,_ and this was her domain.

The only person who didn’t seem borderline high was Penny.

“Not to break up the party,” he said flatly. “But Quentin, Kady, and Alice might still need someone to check them out, and none of us have eaten or slept.”

Well, he had a point.


	33. At The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're not like. _That_ close to the end of the story, but we're getting there. I can't say for sure how many chapters are left.

They figured the best immediate course of action was to have Penny travel them all to Whitespire and regroup there. Get some food, some rest, maybe some more healing magic if they could manage it.

Also, Margo was eager to get to her castle.

Penny traveled them right outside the door.

She flicked her hair back as they approached, adjusting her crown. “Right. Showtime.”

“Oh, fuck, hold on, wait—” Quentin said, half-leaning on Eliot. “Don’t, uh—Just. None of you sit on the thrones, okay? There, um. There might be a curse. I don’t know. There was one in Timeline 40. It made us all, like. Try to kill each other. So there's that.”

Margo paused. “A curse. On my _throne?_ Oh, someone better pay for that, because I was stoked about my throne.”

“Well, um, if there is one, the Beast put it there, so.”

“Well, shit. Can’t punish him for it _now.”_

“Can we just get inside?” Eliot interjected urgently.

Margo glanced at Quentin, half amused at Eliot’s tone. Quentin rolled his eyes.

“Frankly, seconded,” Josh added. “I’ll feel better when we’ve gotten some food.”

“I’m with Josh,” Alice piped in. “Food sounds good.”

“What do they even eat in Fillory?” Kady murmured.

At that, Quentin, Julia, and Margo all exchanged glances. Remembering the descriptions of the horrifying food that the Chatwins encountered.

The three of them burst out laughing.

“Ow,” Quentin said, pressing a hand to his abdomen. He leaned against Eliot a little more.

Josh groaned. “Oh, shit, I forgot about the food in the books.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Tell you what, I’ll take over the kitchen and make us all something. I’m not eating anything they hand us.”

“Yeah, there’s an idea, insult their food while we take over their kingdom,” Penny said sardonically.

“Did you read the books?” Josh said pointedly. “No? Trust me, you don’t wanna know. We’re better off with me in the kitchen.”

Penny just rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

Margo lifted her chin. “Well, let’s _go.”_

She led the way through the castle doors, the others trailing behind her.

She tried not to show how overwhelming it all was. This enormous, beautiful place. It was _hers._ A castle, a crown, a kingdom. She could feel the crown on her head, ever ounce of it. She took a deep breath, passing through the entrance.

“Margo!” an excited voice cried, startling her slightly.

She turned to see Fen rushing towards her. Right, because she was _married._

Fen stopped a yard or so away from her, a wide but hesitant smile on her face. Sincerity and apprehension both clouding her eyes, like she wanted to be happy to see Margo but had to wait for the reaction to be sure.

“Fen,” Margo said, smiling as sincerely as she could. She wasn’t going to say she was _thrilled_ about being suddenly married—but there were worse people to be with, and worse situations to have been dragged into, and the way Fen’s eyes lit up at the acceptance made it worth it.

“The crown suits you,” Fen said, and Margo’s smile got more sincere.

She squeezed Fen’s hand lightly before shaking off the emotion and turning to all the people gathered around.

“Well. Here I am, your fucking High King,” she said, authority and royalty in her tone. “And who are all of you?”

“This is the Pickwick family,” Fen told her. “They’ve been running things until Children of Earth came.”

A smiling, nervous looking man stepped forward. His plastered on smile faltered as he looked Margo over. “Oh—uh, well, so _you’re_ the High King?” he said, his voice strained like he was trying to stay polite.

Margo raised her eyebrows. “You got any issue with that? You better speak now or forever hold your goddamn peace.”

He let out a slight, tense laugh. “Right, no, of course, no issue at all—it’s just, well, we—oh, we’ve never had. Um. A female. High King. Before.”

Margo just maintained eye contact, daring him to continue that line of thought.

He blinked rapidly looking away. “Right, right, of course, first time for everything!” he said in a fake-bright tone. He bowed quickly. “Well, your Highness. I am Tick Pickwick, of the Northern Marsh Pickwicks. At your service.”

Fen seemed to let out a slight sigh of relief.

Margo nodded briskly. “Alright. Well, let’s get started.”

 ---

They all split off for a little while, letting Margo take charge and get situated. Josh went off to the kitchen, everyone else went to various rooms to rest or hide. Alice had slipped off early, seeming eager to get away from the crowds that were gathering around Margo.

Kady had seen where Alice had hidden, but she let her have some time to herself before following.

Carefully, she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Alice’s voice replied.

Kady opened the door slowly.

“So? You’re feeling okay?” she asked, as gently as she could.

Alice was sitting on a bed, looking towards a window that overlooked the distant mountains. She rolled her eyes. “I’m _fine._ You’re the one who was, you know, _bleeding.”_

“Man, you’re still hung up on that?”

Alice turned sharply, her eyes narrowed in a glare that was more concern than anger, her lips pursed. “Yes, _Kady,_ I’m still _hung up on that.”_

Kady’s lips quirked up in a smile. Okay, maybe she said it _partially_ to get that reaction from Alice. In her defense, the shoulder wound really wasn’t that big a deal. Even without magic, it wouldn’t have even needed stitches. Alice’s reaction was, well, kind of charming.

Alice, meanwhile, was still glaring like they were having a staring contest.

“Quinn, careful, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Kady said, truly incapable of containing her grin.

Alice rolled her eyes again, more dramatically.

“Lighten up, we _won.”_

“Q looked bad.”

“He’s fine.”

“ _You_ looked bad.”

“I’m also fine.”

Alice fidgeted a little with the hem of her dress. “There’s something else we have to do, right? Like. Other things we have to figure out with all this?”

Kady furrowed her brow, not sure where this was going. “Well, I mean. We’ve got the god-cage thing back at the Cottage for Ember and Umber. We still have to figure out what happens with the kid.”

Alice nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her. She brought her fingers up to touch her locket. And Kady realized fast.

“Oh,” she said.

“Hm?” Alice said, dropping her hand quickly and clasping it in her lap.

“It’s gonna be okay, Alice.” Tentatively, she put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. Alice was so smart and so brave, and so _self-assured_ until it came to things like this. Until it came to things that really mattered to her. It was like she was always second guessing her emotions, like she didn’t trust herself when it came to matters beyond intellect.

“I know,” she said, her voice small.

“I got your back. You know that, right?”

Alice smiled slightly. “Yeah,” she said.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be there.”

Alice nodded slightly. She glanced at Kady quickly before looking back at her lap. Kady tilted her head slightly, curious.

“So you kissed me,” she said, all the words coming out at once like she was rushing.

Kady did her best not to laugh at Alice’s nervousness. It was just so endearing. “You also kissed me.”

“That. Also happened. Yes.”

Kady glanced at Alice’s hands, seeing how they were clenched in fists. She was so _tense,_ what was she so afraid of?

“I’d like to do it again,” Kady said softly. She reached over, tucking a lock of hair behind Alice’s ear.

“Oh,” Alice said.

“Got any thoughts about that?”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Alice replied, glancing over with a tentative smile.

“Noted,” Kady said. And she leaned in and kissed Alice. And kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

And it felt like _oh, finally._ Like coming home. Like the easiest thing Kady had ever done.

\---

Quentin was stretched out on the bed in one of the guest chambers, a new bandage wrapped around his abdomen. Might be a good idea to go to a real doctor, but Julia, Kady, and Alice had healed it what felt like most of the way, and they’d taken his bloody torn shirt and Eliot’s ruined jacket sleeve and tie and cleaned up what remained of the wound.

And then he’d been shoved into this room and told to lie down until High King Margo gave him permission to get up.

_Would hate to execute you while we’re trying to keep you from dying,_ Margo had said.

Well. He was hardly _dying._

He felt pretty okay, and the ceiling was boring, but far be it for him to disobey the King’s orders.

He’d resorted to counting the stones in the wall when there was a light, tentative knock on the door.

“I’m not supposed to get up, so just come in,” Quentin called. He was, like, _mildly_ annoyed that he’d lost count.

But then Eliot walked in and any annoyance he felt vanished.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi.” Eliot walked over, sitting slowly on the edge of the bed. His posture was rigid, his hands folded in his lap.

Quentin shifted closer, angling himself so he could look at Eliot’s face.

“Well, that was all quite monumentally horrifying,” Eliot said, lightly, conversationally.

“Could’ve gone much worse,” Quentin replied.

Eliot let out a breath of laughter. “I suppose you’d know.” He glanced down at Quentin, only meeting his gaze for fleeting moment before turning away again. “I hated every second of it.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said dryly. “I was having a great time.”

“Certainly looked like fun,” Eliot replied without humor.

Eliot wasn’t looking at him, so Quentin could only see his profile, but he saw the tension around Eliot’s eyes. The way his jaw clenched.

“Sorry you had to see it,” Quentin said.

“Sorry you had to go through it,” Eliot replied. He turned a little, looking like he was about to say something. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, frowning.

“El?” Quentin asked gently.

“I guess it’s over, then. Isn’t it?”

Quentin closed his eyes. “I mean, well. Not quite. Um. We still have to, uh—to figure out how to let Martin stay.”

“The monarchs can’t just allow that?”

“You’re a king, El, not a god.”

“Pity. I think I’d make a good god.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Was that sarcastic, Q? I’m hurt.”

Quentin huffed out a laugh. He paused. “We’re talking around it,” he said.

Eliot turned away again, angling his face so Quentin could only see a glimpse of his eyelashes. “Well, can you blame us?” he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

“It’s gonna be okay, El.”

“Right.”

“We’ll be okay.”

“No, of course.”

“Eliot.”

“Hm?”

Quentin propped himself up onto his elbows, looking at Eliot.

“Eliot, I—”

“So once we’ve sorted out what happens with Martin, I guess we’ll have to find a way for you to get back to the love of your life, right?” Eliot’s voice was light and airy. Carefully constructed carelessness. “Timeline 40 must miss you.”

Quentin squeezed his eyes closed for a moment.

_The Monster, looming over him—Julia and Penny 23, offering up plans that would get Eliot killed—Margo, gone, getting to avoid the horror of seeing Eliot’s eyes cold and dead and hateful—_

God, he was so fucking tired of going through this. After all that, after everything that happened in Timeline 40, when he was already so fucking close to giving up—and then after all _this_ —saving Martin, beating Plover, crowning his best friends—after _everything._ How could he leave?

And how was Eliot so sure he was going to?

“Weren’t you just saying the other day,” Quentin said slowly, “that maybe I should stay?”

“Sure, and you said it might not be your choice,” Eliot replied. He turned slightly, glancing at Quentin. “And you didn’t say that you wanted to.”

His face was closed off, his expression unreadable. Eliot’s walls were _decidedly_ up.

Quentin felt a prickle of frustration.

“I didn’t say I wanted to leave either.”

“It’s just—I’m not who you want. It’s not me.”

Quentin let out a short laugh. “Don’t tell me how I feel,” he said, an edge developing in his voice. “God, this is so like you.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Q, I _know_ you’re not about to blame me for something that Eliot 40 did.”

Quentin shot him a look. He sat up, tucking one leg underneath himself and sliding the other off the bed, scooting a little closer to Eliot. “No. I’m telling you _now_ that you don’t get to decide what or who I want.”

Eliot scoffed, turning away. “That person in your memories, the one you fell for—that’s not _me.”_ The hurt, almost jealous tone slipped through a crack in his walls.

_Fuck alternate timelines, seriously._ Quentin scrubbed at his face, frustrated. He remembered the way Eliot, _this_ Eliot had looked at him after the memory sharing spell—the way he’d leaned down, the quiet desperation in the air between them—

“It’s… more complicated. Than that,” he said, his voice stilted and short.

There was more to them than their memories, there was more to them than their experiences. There was more to them than anything tangible. It was _more_ than could be explained.

Quentin didn’t know how to say that it didn’t _matter—_ it didn’t matter how they met, how they connected, how they grew. It didn’t matter who they were or who they became. They could’ve met at a coffee shop, they could’ve met in Fillory, they could’ve met at Yale. They could’ve gotten to know each other like normal people, in a bar over drinks after an awkward introduction. After Quentin saw the tall, beautiful man with the martini and just _had_ to get over his social anxiety to say hi. They could’ve met in the dirtiest subway car in New York City, or the nicest museum, or the DMV.

None of that mattered.

There was more to them than that. There was no version of Eliot that Quentin didn’t love.

\---

Penny was feeling restless in the castle.

Let’s just say he’d had a long fucking day and all he wanted was to sleep, but he just—he _couldn’t_ do it. His hands were hot and clammy and his head was pounding and everything felt bright and loud. He was pacing the floor like he wanted to wear it down.

Julia wandered in after a while, after spending time looking around the castle with Margo. 

“So High King Margo’s already running things like a pro,” Julia said, her voice light. She hesitated a few feet away from him. “How are you doing?”

“Fucking stellar, Jules,” Penny replied. He kept pacing.

“Yeah, you seem it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Julia sighed, frowning a little.

“Penny—it’s over. We won, it’s over.”

“Yeah, I _know,_ that’s part of the fuckin’ problem,” Penny replied, his voice sharp.

Julia stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on his arm. He stopped pacing. “Just talk to me.”

“It’s just—God, this feels so… Look. The Beast saved my life, alright? That voice in my head, it got me through shit. Really fucked up shit. I wouldn’t have survived without it.” Penny hung his head, feeling pathetic in his core.

“Penny…”

“Jules, you don’t get it. My mom, she—” He ran a hand over his hair, frustrated. “I grew up in foster care, alright? It wasn’t exactly nonstop fun. And like, alright, I _got_ it, he was a monster. The Beast didn’t care about me, he was manipulating me. But Jules, I _killed_ him.”

“Penny—”

“And it’s fucked up, right? Because he was a _monster,_ and he deserved it so like—why should I feel guilty? Or why should I feel like—fuck, like _I’m_ the bad guy.”

Julia raised her hands a little. “Look, I’m not going to pretend to understand how you feel. But Plover _wasn’t_ the voice in your head. _Martin_ was.”

Penny sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” Julia said. Her voice was soft and kind and Penny let it comfort him for a moment. “So Martin saved your life. And then you saved his. Isn’t that enough?”

Penny looked at her, a little hopelessly.

If he was being honest, he _couldn’t_ really explain how he was feeling. Why he felt like clawing at his arms. Why he couldn’t stand still. Why he could barely look at his own hands.

“I still feel it. I feel the knife going between his ribs, Jules. I _feel_ it.” Penny clasped his hands behind his neck, casting his eyes to the ground.

Julia took a short breath. She cupped his cheek in her palm and looked up into his eyes.

“What do you need?”

Penny closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. “I think—I need to go back to earth. Get started on figuring out how to handle Martin. I need to _do_ something, y’know?”

Julia nodded, smiling a little in understanding. “Do you want me to come?”

He shook his head. “I just. I need some time.”

“Right. Of course.”

He tried to offer a smile back before stepping away from her and traveling out of there.

\---

He was trying to make Quentin see, to make Quentin _understand,_ but it just wasn’t working. There was some fundamental misunderstanding between them, and Eliot couldn’t think of how to bridge the gap. They were approaching this differently—that much was clear.

But Eliot _couldn’t_ bring himself to see what Quentin was saying. He could hear it—almost. Almost. Like a faint whisper of something, if he _focused,_ he could see Quentin’s point of view.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something about it hurt too much.

“So tell me, Q, if you had to pick between me and Eliot 40, would you really pick me?” Eliot said sharply.

Quentin huffed. “What are trying to say, El? _Not when I have a choice?”_

Eliot felt that like a blow to the chest.

_I love you, but—_

_That’s not me and that’s definitely not you—_

_Not when we have a choice._

The memory, seared in his mind. Watching _himself_ say these words, in some intangible way. Feeling Quentin’s hurt and heartbreak and frustration.

Eliot’s hands were practically shaking. “Now that is _not_ fair.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Oh, and you’re being _fair_ right now?”

“You can’t use _his_ words against me.”

“You can’t ask me to—I mean, you can’t _expect—”_ Quentin groaned, half laughing. “God, El, what the fuck do you want me to say? That I don’t love Eliot 40? I can’t say that. But, you know, it’s not that _fucking simple._ Because I love you, too, and I’d love Eliot 28, and Eliot 37, and Eliot 1.”

Eliot stared at him for a moment, slightly stunned. Quentin—he’d said the _words._

Eliot shook his head and turned away again.

He _couldn’t_ hear it. There was something so deeply terrifying. So deeply painful. He didn’t want to look at it.

“But that—god, there has to be _something else._ You fell in love with him for a reason and I don’t—” Eliot stumbled over his words before pausing to gather himself. He closed his eyes briefly. “Things are different here. What if you realize one day that…”

Quentin softened, sighing. “Eliot…” he said.

Elio shook his head. “There’s something missing here, I can feel it. And someday, you’ll see it, and… And maybe you’ll realize that you regret your choice.”

“I can’t _make_ you believe me, Eliot. I don’t know how.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Look. Did you mean it?”

“What?”

Quentin clenched his jaw. “When you told me to stay, after seeing my memories. _Did you mean it?”_ Every word came out deliberately, strength and certainty behind them.

“Yes,” Eliot replied, and in comparison, his voice was small.

“So then what does that look like to you? Me staying, I mean. Am I just, what, supposed to stick around and pretend I’m _not_ in love with you? Are we just supposed to be friends, because _you_ won’t _believe me?”_

Eliot winced at his tone. He pulled his walls up higher, as high as they’d go, covering his jagged edges.

“Well, I don’t know, I wasn’t planning for our _future_ ,” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcastic venom. “I’d just seen memory after memory of trauma—forgive me for not wanting my friend to go _back_ to that.”

Quentin scoffed. “Friend,” he repeated flatly. “That all?”

Eliot turned away. “Well, I _don’t_ know what you want me to say,” he said again, forcing condescension into his tone.

He heard a sigh from behind him. Not an irritated one, or a gentle one. A defeated, hollow sigh. Eliot's pulse was racing under his skin. A hand settled gently on his shoulder and he shifted away.

Quentin pulled his hand back. “El, I just…” he started, his voice low. “I don’t want to abandon you. I need you to know that.”

“Let’s pick this up later,” Eliot said. Flat and empty. Devoid of any of the pain or fight. “I’ll go check on how Josh is doing in the kitchen.”

He practically fled the room, not giving Quentin a chance to say another word.

\---

Penny traveled in right as Victoria was putting away the Clue board.

She glanced up at him, not seeming surprised. She smiled. “Hey. How did it go?”

“Well. We won.” He didn’t want to elaborate. “How’s the kid?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Restless. Antsy. Pretty okay, though, considering.” She frowned, her eyes growing serious. “He’s a _really_ good kid, you know.”

“I believe it,” Penny replied.

“I just—I wanna make sure we’re really doing everything we can for him.” She sighed, closing the box. “He deserves that.”

Penny nodded. He’d heard as much from Quentin and Julia and Kady and Eliot—really anyone who spent any time with Martin. They were all on the same page.

He deserved better. Frankly, he deserved better than _them,_ but they were all he had at the moment. Penny was going to do the best he could, in any case.

“Where is he?” he asked.

Victoria gestured to the stairs. “Quentin’s room. Reading.”

“Reading the Fillory books?”

Victoria half-smiled. “What do you think?”

Penny just turned and headed to Quentin's door.

Sure enough, Martin was cross-legged on the floor with a Fillory book in front of him.

“He got a lot of things wrong, you know,” Martin murmured without looking up. “We used to make things up when we told him stories. It was kind of a game, we’d see what lies would make it into the books.”

“He’s gone. For the record,” Penny said, flexing his hands.

Martin looked up at him, a glint in his eye. “Good.”

Martin’s voice trembled just a little on the word, but he sounded sure. Penny nodded. He’d done the right thing. He _knew_ that.

“So. Where do you wanna go, kid?” Penny kept his voice low. “Whatever you want, we can figure it out.”

Martin sighed. He looked at him with wide, sad eyes. “Fillory,” he said simply. “It’s the only place I’ve felt at home.”

And, well, Penny—with the crown he’d been given and the bedroom he’d claimed in the castle— _almost_ understood that. He still didn’t see the beauty of Fillory the way Quentin did, the way Julia did. But maybe he could understand why a kid would want to stay there.

“Alright,” Penny said. “Then we’ll get you there.”


	34. Some Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've broken 100k words, that's fun.   
> Also, I'm gonna be honest, I really don't care about Ember and Umber.

Penny was not about to sit around and wait. He felt restless, he felt frustrated, and he needed to finish what he’d started. With Penny as the one corralling everyone, things happened relatively fast. They barely had time to eat the meal that Josh had managed to scrape together before Penny was dragging everyone back out.

High King Margo stayed in the castle with Fen. Josh stayed with them, making some excuse about the food, and how sine _he_ didn’t get to be a king, the _least_ they could do was let him hang out in the castle.

Alice and Kady went back to the Cottage to wait with Martin.

Penny and Eliot went after Ember.

And Victoria took Julia and Quentin to go after Umber.  

Penny didn’t love Fillory—but something about having the crown made him feel more protective of it. And he was _over_ having gods that didn’t care. He was _over_ having cruel, callous powerful beings screwing up the fantasy land that Julia and Quentin and Martin had loved.

And okay, yeah, maybe that was most of it—

Maybe Penny hated that this place had disappointed those three. Maybe Penny hated that it hadn’t lived up to their stupid, nerdy, childish expectations. Maybe it fucking sucked that this place wasn’t what they’d hoped, what they’d dreamed.

And maybe Penny kept playing back Quentin’s words in his mind—

_I can’t think of someone better to finally make Fillory the safe place it was meant to be._

The safe place it was _meant_ to be.

Maybe it was never intended to be a safe haven for lost kids. Maybe it was never _supposed_ to be the place that saved Quentin’s life, or the place that gave Julia hope, or the place that protected Martin.

But with Penny in charge? It sure as hell was _going_ to be. If he had anything to say about it, Fillory was going to be _better._

\---

Eliot and Penny approached Ember’s Tomb slowly. Cautiously. Eliot wasn’t exactly a _fan_ of this entire ordeal. He, for one, felt like they deserved a little more rest. It didn’t help that he was still testy from his argument with Quentin.

Who he _hadn’t_ been avoiding. Of course. It just happened that they weren’t particularly near each other at the moment or at dinner. Eliot wasn’t _trying_ to stay away from Q; it just worked out like that.

Well. It was fine. They could deal with all _that_ later.

If they had the time.

If Quentin wasn’t gone by then.

If Eliot hadn’t already managed to push him away enough that Quentin would choose Timeline 40 in a heartbeat.

_Focus._ They were after a _god_ here.

“Does he know, do you think? That the Beast is dead?” Eliot murmured.

Penny shrugged. “Maybe. He’s a god. You’d think he’d have shown his face by now to, I don’t know, fuckin’ thank us.”

“Given what Q has said about him, I imagine that’s not _quite_ in character for him.”

The Tomb was imposing and dark. It certainly didn’t look like anywhere a benevolent god would live.

“Alright, slice your palm or whatever,” Penny said, gesturing to the stone with the handprint.

Eliot turned, frowning. “Why do I have to do it? You cut open your palm.”

Penny shook his head, looking just the tiniest bit smug. “Traveler blood. We don’t know if that would work.”

“What, you don’t have just regular human blood?”

“Not exactly.”

Eliot looked at the dark stain on the stone. He wrinkled his nose. That could _not_ be sanitary. Gingerly, he pulled a handkerchief out of his front pocket and reached over to wipe it down.

Penny snorted. “Seriously?”

“Would _you_ want to put your hand on that?”

“Whatever, man.”

It only took a few moments for the atmosphere to shift and the Tomb to open. Eliot exchanged a glance with Penny as he pulled his hand off the stone.

_Time to kidnap a god._

\---

Quentin knocked on the door, hard. He was _not_ in the mood for any of this fucking bullshit, but whatever. He could ignore his prickling annoyance and frustration. Or, well, not _ignore_ it. It just didn’t have to be his whole focus.

Umber opened the door slowly, looking Quentin up and down apprehensively. “Can I… help you?”

Okay, well, Quentin wasn’t exactly feeling patient. “Cut the crap, Umber, I know it’s you.”

“I—I beg your pardon?” he sputtered.

Quentin rolled his eyes, shoving past Umber into the house.

“How dare you—” Umber started.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Quentin said dismissively. He glanced around the room, taking in all the Fillory memorabilia. His eyes landed on the clock.

He’d come back for that when all this was over.

It’d make it easier to travel back and forth between Fillory and Earth when—

Which. Well. He might not need, he supposed. Because he might not stay here.

_Fuck._

He had to focus—he couldn’t think about _any_ of that right now.

“I came to talk to you about saving Fillory, or something.”

Umber started talking about how Fillory wasn’t worth saving, or how they were never supposed to save Fillory because this was all a game to him, or maybe about how he was definitely a normal human person and why would Quentin even _suggest_ that he was a goat-god or something?

Whatever, Quentin wasn’t listening.

This was all a pretense.

When his eyes finally settled on the snow globe, he picked it up. “What’s this?” he said, interrupting whatever Umber had been rambling about.

“Oh! I’m _so_ glad you asked—”

It was almost too easy.

\---

Kady and Alice waited by the cage they’d built, Alice pacing the length of the room. Martin was in Quentin’s room with the Fillory books.

Patience wasn’t exactly either one of their strong suits, so they were both getting a little irritated with the waiting.

“Okay, like, I _get_ why we’re the one that have to stay behind,” Alice was in the middle of saying, “but could they _hurry,_ at least?”

“You’d think they’d be faster, they can teleport,” Kady said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I mean, _right?_ God. _We_ would’ve been faster.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Kady pushed herself off the wall, catching Alice’s wrist and stopping her as she tried to pace past.

“I can think of a way to pass the time, though,” Kady said, her voice low.

Alice’s cheeks immediately went pink and Kady had to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, um, I—” Alice started.

Kady leaned in, brushing Alice’s hair back gently.

Someone cleared their throat to get their attention, and Alice sprang away. Kady sighed a little, glancing over.

An amused-looking Victoria and Julia stood in the center of the room.

“Getting busy while you waited?” Victoria said with barely-contained laughter.

Alice went redder and Kady rolled her eyes.

“Did you get him or not?” she said flatly.

“Get ready,” Julia said. Kady opened the door to the cage and Alice got her hands in position for the tut to lock it.

Julia lifted a snow globe and shook it hard.

Quentin and a middle-aged man appeared in the room. The man glanced around, looking confused and alarmed. Before he could fully react, Quentin shoved him back into the cage. Kady slammed the door and Alice activated the lock.

“What is the _meaning_ of this?” the man sputtered. Hopefully, this was Umber and not some random guy.

“God, fucking _shut up,”_ Quentin snapped, running a hand over his hair. He groaned a little, hanging his head.

“How _dare_ you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, how _dare_ I speak to a god in _such a manner_. Whatever.” Quentin turned sharply and walked out of the room.

Kady exchanged a startled glance with Alice. She looked over at Julia for any semblance of an explanation, but Julia just shrugged one shoulder slightly.

“Will _someone_ explain what is happening?” Umber (hopefully) said.

“No,” Julia replied.

Kady had to laugh at how dry and matter-of-fact her tone was.

“Young lady, I don’t think anything about this is funny.”

Umber’s voice was so stuffy and offended that Kady just laughed more. Next to her, Alice started giggling, hanging onto her shoulder a little.

“God, pull yourselves together,” Julia said, but she had started laughing too.

Kady and Alice started laughing harder, Alice burying her face in Kady’s arm.

When Kady finally managed to catch her breath, Penny and Eliot had suddenly traveled into the cage with a goat-creature. Penny let go of Ember (probably) and traveled him and Eliot out.

Eliot rubbed his temple a little, sighing. “Well, that could’ve been worse, I suppose,” he muttered, looking tired.

“Umber? Brother, what are you doing here?” Ember said.

“Okay, I’m not interested in the reunion, you two catch up,” Penny said gruffly. He turned to Kady and Alice. “Where’s Q?”

Kady gestured towards the door. “He stormed out.”

“Right. Well, we should regroup. Who’s staying with the fucking goats?”

“Ex- _cuse_ me?” Ember said.

Penny ignored him.

Julia glanced at Victoria. “We’ll stay here.”

Victoria nodded. “Yeah, you guys go ahead.”

\---

They found Quentin in the living room, sitting on the couch with his legs tucked into his chest. Penny wasn’t sure exactly what was up with the guy, but he seemed tense. Anxious. Well, more so than usual anyway.

They’d have to handle that afterward. They had shit to do.

“Q,” he said.

Quentin looked up, eyes tired. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I know.”

“So. We have them now,” Alice said. She crossed her arms.

“Yes. That we do,” Eliot replied slowly.

They all glanced back towards the door to the basement.

“Okay, but what do we _do_ with them now? Did anyone think past that at _all?”_ Kady asked.

The room was silent.

Yeah, that was about right.

“We just, like, I don’t know. Talk to them?” Quentin offered.

Penny shot him a look. “Q, you’ve got the most experience with this. You think that’s gonna work?”

“I mean, no. But it’s a place to start.”

Kady threw her hands up. “Whatever.”

“This is ridiculous,” Alice muttered.

“I want to talk to them.”

All five of them whipped their heads towards the stairs.

Martin had his fists clenched at his sides, his chin lifted defiantly. Penny could see his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly.

“Kid, um,” Penny started. “You don’t… You don’t have to do that.”

“I _want_ to,” Martin insisted.

Penny glanced at Quentin, who looked about as apprehensive as he felt.

“Martin, are you sure?” Quentin asked.

He gave a short nod. Penny felt his chest tighten, a stab of empathy between his ribs.

“Let me try,” Martin said, a quiver in his voice.

Penny’s gut reaction was to tell him no. He could see the sliver of hope the kid still had—that this was all somehow a mistake, that Ember and Umber might be kind and welcoming. That everything might be able to be okay.

Penny didn’t want him to lose that.

But _fuck,_ how could he tell this kid that he couldn’t even _try?_

He just hoped that Quentin’s mood would get better—the kid might need his kindness and optimism after this.

“Alright,” Penny said, breaking the beat of silence. He glanced at Quentin, who nodded slightly.

He didn’t look optimistic.

When they went back into the other room, Julia and Victoria already looked like they had migraines.

“They’ve been catching up,” Julia said with a sigh.

_Catching up_ seemed to mean bickering, judging by the whiny, overlapping voices.

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell.”

They waited a few moments for the arguing to die down, but they showed no signs of slowing. Penny, for one, had truly no interest in their bullshit. He could not care less about whatever problems they had between them.

He cleared his throat loudly until they quieted down and turned.

“Kid,” Penny said softly, gesturing Martin forward.

Martin was hesitant, looking up at Penny and then over at Quentin, like he wanted reassurance.

“Oh, it’s the, um. The boy child,” Ember said, gesturing vaguely with a forced smile. He said it with something that sounded almost like disdain, and Penny’s blood boiled.

“Yeah,” Penny said sharply. “His name is Martin.”

“Right, of course,” Ember said dismissively.

Penny wanted to kill him already.

“I wanted to ask permission to stay in Fillory,” Martin said, his voice a controlled kind of even.

Ember and Umber exchanged a glance and they both snickered a little.

Penny clenched his jaw. He wasn’t going to last long without blowing up at this rate.

“Boy, this isn’t a negotiation,” Ember said, sounding _endlessly_ amused by the entire thing.

“Did you think kidnapping and capturing us would work?” Umber added, shaking his head.

“I just want—” Martin started quietly.

“Child,” Umber interrupted, pityingly. “What you want is no concern of ours.”

“But I—”

“To _think,_ you all went through this trouble for nothing,” Ember said, half-gleeful.

“Fillory makes its _own_ decisions about who to let in,” Umber went on, looking Martin up and down judgmentally. He passed his gaze over to Quentin lazily, like he’d lost interest. “What did you _think_ this would accomplish, sad little nerd king?”

Quentin glared back, hard.

Penny was getting ready to step forward—not sure exactly what he was planning on saying, just feeling the rage bubbling in his chest.

Martin beat him to it, moving towards the cage with his fists clenched and shaking.

“Do you have _any_ idea what it was like for me? To be rejected? To be abandoned?” Martin said, his voice rising.

Finally, Ember and Umber looked startled. Wide-eyed, maybe even a little confused. Like they had no grasp on what they had done.

“Fillory was supposed to be _safe!_ ” Martin shouted tearfully. “I had _nowhere_ _else_ to go! Why did you lock me out? Why couldn’t you just let me _stay_?”

Penny crossed his arms, lifting his chin. “Well. Answer the kid.”

Umber looked away, and Ember had the decency to look a little embarrassed. Some gods they were. Abandoning a kid and refusing to look him in the eye.

“Fresh out of _fucking_ excuses, huh?” Penny said.

Umber and Ember exchanged a glance.

Martin breathed out shakily. “This was a waste of time.” He sniffled, turning and leaving the room with his head hanging down.

Penny looked at Quentin. Quentin had closed his eyes tightly and was sighing. As though they’d already lost. As though maybe there really wasn’t a way to fix this.

_Come on, Q,_ Penny thought, a little desperately. _Where’s your faith?_

Eliot took an apprehensive step towards Quentin, and Kady was looking at the door Martin had disappeared through.

_Well. Someone has to do something._

“I got it,” Penny said softly, walking out of the room.

Martin was huddled on the floor of Quentin’s room, the Fillory books shoved towards the other wall.

He looked a little like Quentin, his knees tucked to his chest, his hands touching his hair.

Penny wondered what it would’ve done to Q, to have the heroes of his escapism treat him with that kind of cruelty. He wondered if Q would’ve been able to keep his optimism all this time, if he’d gone through was Martin went through.

Penny knelt on the ground next to him, wordlessly.

“They’re never going to let me stay, I’m never going to have a home,” Martin mumbled, curling in on himself.

Penny put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Kid. Kid, look at me.” Martin finally met his gaze, and Penny did his best to convey his sincerity. “I know what we promised you, alright? We will figure something out. I’m not letting you down, alright?”

Martin huffed a little, looking away. “Why do you even care?”

It was a fair question. The kind of question Penny would’ve asked as a kid.

“I just do,” he replied. He sighed, slouching a little. “I know what it’s like to not feel safe. To be abandoned. We’re not giving up on you, okay?”

Martin paused, looking down at his hands.

“Okay,” he said, barely audibly.

Well, it was something, at least.

Talking wasn’t going to work. Appealing to the gods’ empathy wasn’t going to work—they didn’t fucking _have_ any.

They had to figure something else out.

And they would.


	35. Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the thing: I know I'm kind of glossing over Ember and Umber in general but I can't stress enough that I don't really care about them, so. We're just dealing with that.   
> Anyway, this story is close to over, I think. Only a few more chapters left. Thank you all for sticking with me, I've been having a lovely time writing and reading all your comments.

Quentin was trying not to _vibrate_ with anger. It was proving difficult.

He waited a few moments before speaking.

“What the _fuck,”_ he started, “is _wrong_ with you two?”

“Trying to talk to them is a waste of time,” Kady muttered. She grabbed Alice’s wrist and pulled her towards the door. “Come on, we’re checking the books.”

“He’s a _kid._ He just loves Fillory and wants to stay.” Quentin scoffed, disbelieving. “I don’t _get—”_

He cut off. They were never going to understand based on empathy. He couldn’t talk them into caring. He couldn’t talk them into believing they’d done something wrong.

Quentin stepped forward, his eyes dangerously dark.

“Do you know what happened in my timeline?” he said, his voice even.

Ember started to say something.

“Rhetorical question,” Quentin interrupted. “I’ll tell you. We killed the Beast, at an enormous cost. We saved Fillory. You, meanwhile, got bored and _stupid_ and started destroying it because you didn’t have anything better to do when you weren’t hiding in your Tomb like the _coward_ you are.”

“Excuse me?” Ember said, sputtering a little, looking taken aback.

Quentin turned his eyes on Umber. “And _you._ Hiding out in our world, collecting Fillory merchandise instead of bothering to _do_ anything to help, trying to make a new world—a world which, by the way, would’ve been awful and suffocating and excruciating, but how could _you_ see that?”

“I wasn’t _hiding—”_ Umber tried.

“You were. Both of you were. _Both_ of you let Fillory nearly get torn to shreds, until some group of Magicians came along to save it. Some gods, right? You didn’t even _care.”_ Quentin let out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. “And then we had to save Fillory _again,_ from _you.”_

He stepped closer, inches from the bars, eyes narrowed and steady, glaring at Umber.

“And then. Ember killed you.” He turned his gaze to Ember. “And I killed you.”

Ember laughed like he didn’t believe it, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Please. Like—like _you_ could—”

“I did. And doubt it all you want, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it again.”

Ember’s bright smile faded. “You wouldn’t.”

Quentin took one more step forward. “Oh, yeah? Try me, asshole.”

“Threatening gods doesn’t seem like the way to handle this,” Umber said, his voice semi-reasonable in the tension. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

Quentin turned sharply to look at him. “Oh, like how you came to an agreement with the Beast?” he said, accusatory.

“He makes a point,” Ember said haughtily. “I, for one, _don’t_ make deals with humans.”

“God, shut _up,”_ Quentin said, close to laughing.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, startling slightly.

“Q,” Eliot said gently. “Kady was right. This is getting us nowhere. Let’s go see if we can help them, hm?”

Quentin flexed his hands, trying to get himself under control, and he let Eliot lead him out of the room. Eliot’s hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him towards the living room.

\---

Eliot offered to go sit with Martin, so Penny, Quentin, Kady, and Alice were all huddled in a group in the living room with the books they’d already been using.

If Quentin was being honest, he wasn’t sure they were going to get anywhere, but whatever. They had to try—they _always_ had to try.

He was flipping through the Fillory books—like _that_ might actually help. The information was unreliable at best, and there had never been much about Ember and Umber to begin with. But, really, it was all they had here. Penny had briefly traveled back to Whitespire to update Margo, and she, Josh, and Fen were looking through whatever history books they had around.

She said she’d send a bunny if she found anything.

Which Penny seemed so deeply exasperated by, just as a concept, that Quentin had almost burst out into hysterics.

It was all so ridiculous, really.

They’d been flipping through the books in silence for a while.

Quentin didn’t know how much more of this he could take before he’d need some kind of break.

“I’ve got something,” Kady said suddenly.

Quentin closed his book quickly, not bothering to mark the page.

“There is a way,” Kady said her voice low, “to get rid of them, get them out of Fillory, without killing them.”

“Alright, you’ve got our attention,” Quentin replied.

Kady looked grim. “They have to give up their godhood. Willingly.”

Penny scoffed. “ _Willingly?_ Doesn’t sound fucking likely.”

Kady shrugged. “It’s what the book says.”

“Helpful,” he said, groaning into his hands.

“Okay, well,” Quentin sighed. “It’s what we’ve got.”

“There’s something else, too,” Kady added.

Quentin closed his eyes and took a breath. “Okay. What is it?”

“When they give up their godhood, the power has to go somewhere,” she explained. “And it has to _know_ where to go. So to make that aspect of the ritual work, we need something called the _truth key.”_

And it was Quentin’s turn to groan loudly into his hands.

The key quest felt like a full lifetime ago. It kind of _was._ And the truth key was, what, the second key they found? Quentin was drawing a blank as to how they found it.

“So you know what that is?” Kady said, leaning forward. “How do we get it?”

“I don’t—fuck, I don’t know how we get it.”

“Alright, well what _is_ it?” Penny asked. “Start there.”

“Okay, um. So, so like—the key quest, right? That was, uh, how we got—how we got magic back in Timeline 40.”

“Wait, _got magic back?”_ Kady asked.

“I don’t—okay, that’s not the important part.” He pushed his hair back. “Oh! Wait—um—”

Quentin shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out the time key from when he and Julia brought Martin to the present. He hesitated for a moment, looking at it—

_The memories—_

He cleared his throat, setting it gently on the table in front of them.

“This, um—this is the time key. I have to get it back to Jane, but, uh, anyway—” Quentin pulled his eyes away from it. “There were seven golden keys, right? The time key is, um, it’s how the loops exist—Jane Chatwin keeps resetting them using this, and uh, it—well, it was in Fillory, at this, like, puzzle, and…” He trailed off, finding it difficult to wrap his mind around what to explain.

“Q,” Kady prompted.

“Right, um. Seven golden keys. The truth key was one of them.”

Penny was frowning down at the time key. “Wait, I’ve seen something like this before…”

“The keys all have, like, some power—the time key is self-explanatory, I think—there was an illusion key, that could conjure fears, um. The abyss key, which… Well, uh, made… Um. Not important.” Quentin ran his hand over his hair self-consciously. “Anyway, the truth key could make you see hidden things?”

Penny snapped his head up, looking at Kady. Her eyes widened.

“The fucking invisible castle,” Kady said.

“Quentin,” Penny said, a smile growing on his face. “I think we already _have_ the key.”

\---

Well, things had to go right _sometimes,_ didn’t they?

So they already had the truth key. All the needed to do was convince Ember and Umber to go through with it.

_Not fucking likely._

Quentin was having a hard time drawing his eyes away from the truth key. It was on the table, just there—

He wasn’t even _sure_ if it would help. But he wondered.

Before the headed back, Quentin pulled Penny aside for a moment.

“Can you bring the idea to them?” he said quietly. “And, um. Can I just, like. Borrow the truth key for a minute?”

A flicker of understand passed across Penny’s face. “Sure thing.”

He started to hand Quentin the key, but he stopped. Frowning.

“It doesn’t matter what you find out, Q. It just matters what you want.” Penny looked into his eyes, his expression solemn. “We’re all behind you, whatever it is. You know that, right?”

Quentin tried to smile, giving a slight nod. “I know. Um. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Penny handed him the key and turned away quickly, heading back towards Ember and Umber.

Quentin turned the key over in his palm, studying it carefully. He didn’t really know if it could tell him anything. He didn’t really know if he’d be able to figure it out anyway. He had to try, though, right?

He wanted to know where he was supposed to be. _Who_ he was supposed to be.

He didn’t want to leave.

He wasn’t sure he could stay.

Were things really any better?

Could they be?

He clutched the key in his hand and hurried to the bathroom, leaning heavily against the door after he locked it.

Hold the key and look in the mirror, right? That seemed like it would work.

He took a deep breath.

He took another.

And he turned to the mirror.

Nothing happened for a few moments.

He looked down at the key, furrowing his brow, wondering, when—

He was elsewhere. Suddenly. In a hazy, dreamlike way—like he didn’t have a physical form in this hallucination. It was like what he’d imagined astral projection to be.

He saw—

Himself.

In Kady’s apartment.

His heart drummed against his ribs. This place. This place, he’d never been here in Timeline 9. This place, with the monster and 23 and…

The other him was sitting in the stairs, drink in hand, looking drained and empty and, well. Depressed.

Quentin swallowed. It was—

Weird, maybe? It hurt, too. There was something kind of devastating about seeing what he looked like when he felt like _that._

He watched Julia walk over—slowly, like she was being careful.

_“This isn’t over,”_ she said, and it sounded distant, like it was underwater.

_“Yes it is,”_ the other Quentin replied, looking like he meant it.

Quentin furrowed his brow. He didn’t know this memory. The last thing he remembered, he’d been getting word to Margo that Eliot was alive… Josh had sent back that they had a lead… Quentin was losing hope fast, but it wasn’t _gone_ yet.

This hadn’t happened.

Not to him.

He studied the scene—

This was Timeline 40. A moment he’d never lived.

Something in his chest seemed to click together, settle in a way it hadn’t since he’d woken up that first day, the day of the Yale interview. He didn’t—

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

But…

Maybe he was already where he was supposed to be.

He dropped the truth key to the ground.

\---

They were sort of going back and forth and in spiraling circles with the whole thing.

Umber didn’t actually seem that against giving up his godhood—it was the part where they didn’t know what would come next that was making them the most argumentative.

“I’ve never even _worried_ about dying—” Ember was whining.

“It’s not exactly _dying—”_ Kady was trying to say.

Whatever, Penny was hardly listening.

The good news was that Ember and Umber _both_ seemed more interested in the idea of giving up their godhood and Fillory than facing Quentin again.

Penny had to give Q props—he didn’t know the guy could be genuinely intimidating, really. But he’d shaken the twin gods enough to make this a viable plan, in any case. They were actually getting somewhere, kind of.

It seemed like it, anyway. Penny couldn’t really be sure.

He _had_ to zone out while these assholes were talking, or he’d start breaking things. There was nothing they could do or say that would make him _not_ hate them at this point, but there was plenty they could still say that would make him fucking lose it and give up on trying to reason with them.

He’d kill them. And honestly, his hands hadn’t stopped shaking since killing the Beast, so he wasn’t exactly eager to do _that_ again.

\---

The argument was tiring for all of them, really.

Alice left the room a few times. Presumably just to breathe.

Julia was holding it together alright. She hadn’t said much yet—she was observing. She was taking note of the way the dynamics were shifting. Taking note of the way the mood was changing.

Taking note of how they were winning the discussion.

Julia studied Ember and Umber’s faces. The twin gods were looking a lot less confident. A lot less sure of themselves. She saw what she could almost describe as guilt.

“Look,” she said gently. “Is this really what it means to be a god? Treating the land you built and the people you serve as nothing more than entertainment? Is this really the kind of gods you want to be remembered as?”

A silence stretched in the air, Ember and Umber both avoiding eye contact.

“If you give up your godhood for the sake of Fillory, if you let someone else take up the torch,” Julia went on, keeping her voice soft and kind, “you really will be heroes. Don’t you want to _deserve_ the people’s reverence? Because let’s face it—right now, faith and love from the world you created is the _last_ thing you deserve.”

It wasn’t the only thing that was said—

It wasn’t the last straw or the final nail—

But that’s when Ember and Umber’s demeanor truly changed, and Julia could tell that it was inevitable.

\---

There was no sense of celebration in the air when everyone arrived back at the Wellspring.

Margo was waiting for them, crown on her head, dressed in a beautiful Fillorian gown. She was alone, standing by the altars.

“No servants or advisors, High King?” Quentin asked.

She shook her head slightly. “We’re finishing this on our own.”

“Josh?”

“He’s with Fen at the castle.”

“Alright. Well, let’s get through this.”

And so they gathered around, back at this place where they’d saved Fillory once. It felt more distant than it was.

\---

Ember and Umber stood in front of their respective altars, staring into them. Both of them unmoving.

“Do you think it’ll hurt?” Ember finally said, his voice quiet.

Quentin took a breath. “I don’t know.”

Ember looked over at him. “Well, could you lie, then?”

“I’m sure it’ll feel like fuckin’ rainbows, let’s _go,”_ Margo said.

Ember kept his eyes on Quentin.

“I can tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing,” Quentin said softly. “And I think it’s brave.”

“Great, that doesn’t _quite_ help,” Ember replied. His voice was rising in pitch.

Quentin shrugged. “Best I can do.”

“Right, well,” Ember said, looking back towards the altar. “New experiences, I suppose.”

“It’ll be alright,” Umber said beside him, a little calmer. “There’s something beyond this.”

“So let’s find it together, brother,” Ember replied.

“So let’s find it together,” Umber echoed.

They stepped forward at the same moment.

It didn’t look like it hurt. Quentin wasn’t sure _what_ it looked like. They both seemed to glow with starlight, the magic tangible in the air. Everything felt light and beautiful and possible. The alters shone, melting together into a blue liquid, flowing into the Wellspring. Dust motes in the air lit up.

Quentin exchanged glances with his friends, everyone’s face mirroring his own awe and bewilderment. Julia looked like she had tears welling in her eyes as she grabbed Penny’s had. Alice and Kady were watching the dust motes, glancing at one another with unguarded smiles. Margo had her eyes on the liquid magic refilling the spring.

Quentin met Eliot’s eyes and he smiled, despite everything. Despite the fact that they hadn’t gotten the chance to really talk since their argument, all he could feel was warmth. Eliot smiled back, looking almost startled.

It was a frozen second, what felt like it would become and endless moment in their memories.

They hadn’t been sure what to expect.

A cloud of the godly magic hovered in the air.

_Moment of truth,_ Quentin thought, laying the key gently on the alter. It glowed.

They’d speculated a little bit about where the magic would attach itself, who would become the next god of Fillory—

Questing creatures, talking animals, dryads, nymphs—

So many options for who it could be.

He wasn’t sure if they’d be able to tell, if the god would be revealed or if the magic would just vanish and they’d be left wondering.

Everything felt frozen for a few moments until—

The cloud swirled through the air, decisively flowing to Martin Chatwin.

Martin gasped, his eyes glowing a bright white.

“Oh,” was all he said at first.

Everything was still and silent for a few long moments, everyone holding their breath.

Martin, exuding a light, warm power, let out a shaky breath. “It’s me. How could it be me?”

Penny smiled slightly. He nudged Martin’s arm. “How could it be anyone else?” he said, with more unguarded sincerity than Quentin had ever heard from him.

Martin smiled, and a warmth radiated.

“Fillory _wants_ me,” he said with awe.

And it was like the whole world changed. Like Fillory shifted into a different kind of magic.

And there it was—

Everything really, truly felt like it was going to be okay.

It was going to be more than that.

Quentin could feel it.

And who would’ve thought?


	36. Quest's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my updates are getting slower and my chapters are getting shorter. Endings are hard for me, in a lot of ways.

“You sure you can’t stay?” Penny asked.

He was pretty sure they _all_ already knew the answer. There was already something so different in the air, something so different in the kid’s eyes. Even just thinking of him as _the kid_ felt ill-fitting. Like he would still accept the affectionate term, but with a smile and a knowing look that was far beyond it.

Martin was larger than himself now, and it was clear to all of them.

He smiled serenely, shaking his head with the slightest look of regret in his eyes.

Standing outside the castle, the breeze felt saturated with magic. Like if you looked at it from the right angle, it would be glittering with it. It was kind of incredible—overwhelming, really. It heightened everything.

Martin looked away from them, his eyes seeming drawn to something in the distance invisible to the rest of them.

“I appreciate everything you’ve all done for me,” Martin said. “But there are places I need to be now. Things I need to see to. This place… It needs help.”

“It’s lucky we’ve got you, then,” Julia said.

Martin glanced back with a bright smile. “It really is lucky. Isn’t it?”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

Penny let out a breath.

The reverence that Martin inspired in people now was a strange transition to make. He certainly didn’t need them looking out for him anymore. He had a kind of power none of them would be able to imagine.

They all stood there in that beat of thick silence for a few more moments.

High King Margo cleared her throat, pushing her shoulders back.

“Well. We’ve got a fucking feast to get to, don’t we?”

Penny flexed his hands. They weren’t shaking. They didn’t feel normal yet, but at least they weren’t shaking.

The change in the air felt hopeful.

Penny glanced at Julia, at Quentin, at Eliot.

Everything… kind of seemed like it was going to be okay.

Penny didn’t quite let the thought settle in his mind. He’d need to get used to the concept.

 

It was a pretty impressive spread that Josh had set out for them.

He looked pretty proud of himself as he gestured around the table.

“It took a few days, but I think I’ve gotten the hang of the kitchen,” he was saying, walking the length of the room, fussing over the food laid out on the table. “Let me tell you, I had to get pretty creative with replacements—the ingredients here are weird as _hell,_ dude. But let me show you what I managed to put together—”

As Josh went over the dishes he’d prepared, Margo glanced around the room.

So. This was where she’d be eating for the rest of her life.

It was a beautiful hall, with stone walls and stained-glass windows. The tables were long, the chairs ornate. It looked exactly like how Margo imagined a dining hall in a castle would look.

And it was _hers._

Margo summoned all the confidence she’d cultivated, straightening her spine, feeling ten feet tall.

She walked towards the head of the table, though it felt more like floating.

She took her seat, flicking her hair back and rolling her shoulders. The table looked longer from this angle, like it was endless. She tried not to feel the pressure of how much space there was before her, the expanse that was relying on her.

The feast first, she told herself. They’d all _earned_ this.

The weight on her shoulders lessened when Fen scampered over to sit in the seat next to her and Eliot settled into the seat on her other side.

She wasn’t alone. She wouldn’t be alone.

Fen smiled at her, all light and affection. It was the kind of smile that Margo couldn’t _not_ return sincerely.

“Bambi,” Eliot said, reaching over and taking her hand. “Would you like to make a toast, your Highness?”

“Absolutely,” Margo said. She lifted her glass, waiting for everyone else to do the same. “To us. We motherfucking _did_ it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Kady said.

There was a shared smile, a shared laugh, a shared sip.

Any flicker of doubt Margo felt, about Fillory, about her newfound role, about her friends—

It was barely there, a minor nuisance if anything at all.  

She was confident. She was sure. Everything was going to be amazing, if she had anything to say about it.

 

The dinner was good, the mood was warm, and it really felt like the world was lighter. Maybe it was a side effect of having a god that cared. Maybe Martin was out there somewhere, offering Fillory this chance to breathe and brighten.

Alice, for once, realized she didn’t really care what the explanation was. She was happy to enjoy it, for however long this lasted. Warm from Fillorian ale, enjoying the good food and company, she felt like she could take on anything.

Alice touched her locket. She took a breath. She turned to Kady.

“When we get back to Earth, we’re bringing my brother back,” Alice said, her voice just barely wavering at the end.

She managed to make herself sound certain. She’d almost managed to make herself _feel_ certain. They were going to do this.

Kady offered a small, gentle smile, one of the softest looks Alice had seen on her.

“Okay,” Kady replied. “I’m with you.”

Alice gave a brisk nod.

They had a next step. It was the scariest one, but it was there. She could focus on the next sequence of events. She knew what she had to do. She’d face the consequences as they came, and she’d face them without blinking.

And she, remarkably, wouldn’t face them alone.

As though she could hear the thought, Kady reached over and took Alice’s hand.

 

Julia’s voice was almost hoarse from laughter and conversation. She felt loosened and unraveled, completely at ease. Something about all of this felt so right. Sitting in between Quentin and Penny, Julia had nowhere in this world or any other that she’d rather be.

She felt the crown on her head. She felt the magic in the air. She felt the promise of possibility all around her.

They’d survived. They’d won. They’d fulfilled the promises they’d made, and they’d made things _better._

What more could she ask for?

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” she murmured to Quentin during a lull in the conversation.

Quentin gave her a sidelong glance and a half-smile.

She burst out laughing. “Right, of course, you’ve been here already.”

Quentin laughed with her for a few moments.

His wry expression faded and he looked at her with sincerity. “Honestly, though? No. The other options I’ve seen—none of them turned out like this. We never got this far. We never won, not like this.”

Julia lifted her glass. “Well, I’m glad we’re all here,” she said, keeping her voice light, as though there wasn’t an underlying question in her words.

She studied his face for a moment, trying to gauge the reaction.

He smiled warmly, clinking his glass against her. “Me too, Jules.”

It sounded like an answer.

And maybe that was the last thing she might’ve asked for—

Her best friend, staying with her in this beautiful world they’d all had a part in creating. Julia felt tension that had been lingering in her shoulders fade, just a little. The subtle gesture, the quiet moment of understanding—she felt so full of hope for herself, for Q, for all of them. She was bursting with it.

And then Penny leaned over and whispered a snarky comment to them, and Quentin nearly choked on his drink, and it was all so—

It was everything, to Julia. Every hope and idealistic dream, every wish for Quentin and Penny, every moment of warmth between them…

She couldn’t imagine what they had ahead of them. And really? She couldn’t wait for any of it.

Under the table, she laced her fingers with Penny’s. She caught his eye, giving a slight smile and a shrug.

He returned her smile, warm and open. He squeezed her hand slightly.

 

Was it over, then?

Eliot was, frankly, a little afraid to ask. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or apprehensive.

Fillory had a new god. A kinder, more understanding one. A god that actually cared about the place and its people. And Margo was wearing the crown like it had been a part of her since she was born. And Julia was half-giddy in the castle, asking all the servants for their names. And even Penny seemed like he’d let go of the clouds that had been following him.

There was so much they _could_ celebrate.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Eliot’s concerns were lingering.

They probably still _were_ celebrating, downstairs. Eliot had slipped out before dessert, not quite feeling up to all the laughter in the room.

The Beast was gone. There was little doubt about that.

And there was little doubt that Martin would be a better god than Fillory had ever seen before.

No, the doubt was just about everything else.

What came next?

Margo was trapped in this place—a fact they’d been conveniently avoiding addressing. Alice and Kady were antsy to return to Earth. Eliot had been keeping an eye on Penny’s hands, just to check, with the familiarity of someone who understood.

And there was, of course, always, always, the Quentin of it all.

They’d had a sort of stalemate and some kind of silent agreement to push their issues off to deal with later. Eliot had felt like their fight had been insurmountable, but maybe that was the pessimist in him, sure that happiness was never anything more than fleeting.

The point was that Eliot was holding a lot in at the moment. He wasn’t sure how to feel.

And really, there wasn’t a single possible outcome that didn’t scare him on some level.

What if Quentin left?

And what if he didn’t?

Eliot couldn’t stop going over those memories he’d seen, the way he’d watched the montage of Quentin falling in love with Eliot 40.

He still couldn’t quite figure out what made Eliot 40 different. There _had_ to be something. There had to be something he was missing, some inherent difference. Some depth he didn’t have, a trait he lacked.

Because if there was nothing different about Eliot 40, if they truly were the same man at their core, then Eliot would have to believe that Quentin really could be in love with him, too.

And he couldn’t. He couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t believe that, and he couldn’t _want_ that, and he couldn’t see that.

How could he begin to try and imagine that kind of possibility for himself?

After Mike—

Eliot wanted to build his walls higher. And he wanted to crack open his chest and invite Quentin in. And he wanted to run away, and he wanted to stay.

He didn’t know what he wanted.

Or. Maybe he did, but he didn’t want to admit to wanting anything. Not when everything was so fragile. Wanting things was how you got hurt.

He desperately wanted to talk to Margo, lie his head in her lap and lament how ill equipped he was to figure any of this out. He wanted to tell her how fucking terrifying this entire thing with Quentin was. How back when he saw this cute boy stumble onto campus, he wouldn’t have been able to fathom what it would’ve changed in his life.

But, alas, his Bambi was already rather preoccupied with her kingdom and her wife, and she was only going to get more busy. Eliot couldn’t blame her for not having the time.

Unfortunately, this meant that the only other person Eliot felt like he wanted to vent to was, well. _Quentin_.

Which didn’t _quite_ help.

And so here he was, pacing the length of his castle bedroom. It _was_ a room fit for a king—all ornate, with silk and dark purples everywhere. In some ways, it felt like a tangible reminder of all that had changed. This was not Eliot Waugh, lost queer teen from Indiana’s bedroom. Nor was it Eliot Waugh, unofficial Prince of Brakebills’ bedroom.

No, this was King Eliot, the Brave.

Eliot still didn’t feel equipped to handle the title or the role.

They reached the end of their adventure, it seemed—the Beast was gone, Fillory was saved, the celebration was going on downstairs.

Was this the reward? The prize at the end of the noble quest, was this what they were given?

Eliot didn’t know.

So maybe it was all finally over, the chaos and the fighting and the life-risking heroism.

But…

What now?


	37. Were You Expecting Answers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, the general chaos of life and existence has been preoccupying me.

Quentin was feeling pretty wound up. His head was sort of spinning—now that they’d helped Martin, the full weight of what he’d seen in the mirror was hitting him. Really, really hitting him.

He was afraid of the optimistic interpretation his heart was holding close, like it was breakable.

There was no part of this that didn’t make Quentin feel dizzy and untethered.

He wanted to talk to Eliot.

He couldn’t; he couldn’t put this on Eliot.

It wouldn’t be fair to share this twisting pit of anxiety and hope and fear with him. Eliot deserved something he could hold onto. Something he could count on. After everything Eliot had been through, he deserved that much.

Quentin couldn’t give him anything this fragile. It wouldn’t be fair.

He had to know for sure, first. He couldn’t say anything to Eliot until he _knew._

Which, of course, meant that when he rounded the corner in the castle, he ran directly into Eliot.

“Oh,” Eliot said, taking a quick step back. “Um. Sorry.”

Quentin suppressed a frustrated sigh, feeling high strung and threadbare. He kept his eyes on Eliot’s, even as Eliot broke eye contact, blinking quickly and looking at the ground.

“God, we can just—we can just act fucking normal, okay?” Quentin said, his voice tight. “It’s fine. It’s fine, everything’s—it doesn’t have to be weird.”

Eliot cleared his throat. “Who’s being weird? I’m not being weird. Every part of this is delightfully normal.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. He didn’t mean to be impatient or short with Eliot, but standing still felt like an insurmountable task. And the tension was fucking unbearable.

“El, I don’t—I don’t _get_ why this has to be so, like, complicated.”

“Well, Q, possibly because it _is_ complicated.”

There was an edge developing in Eliot’s tone. Quentin told himself to stop—once he figured out who he was and where he needed to be, he could take care of all of this. He could fix it. There was no need to argue about it.

And yet.

“Yeah, you know what, it’s really fucking _not,_ though.”

Eliot let out a short scoff. “Oh, right, sure,” he replied, his voice getting airy. “So simple and casual, this situation. I’m sure everyone goes through this.”

Quentin studied Eliot’s face for a moment, taking in the pressed lips and the tightness in the corners of his eyes. The way his eyes were still glued to anything but Quentin.

He took a step forward and pressed a palm to Eliot’s chest. He could feel Eliot’s heartbeat, could hear the way his breath sped up just a little. So maybe their lives were complicated—nothing short of a mess, really.

“Some parts of this are simple,” Quentin said, his voice low.

Eliot sighed. He finally met Quentin’s eyes with a slight, gentle smile. Quentin wanted to kiss him.

The hallway was empty, a little cold. The stone walls felt too narrow. Quentin felt a twinge of something, homesickness for a cottage, a need to sleep under the stars.

Eliot reached up, brushing Quentin’s hair back with a careful hand.

“Simple? You sure about that, Q?”

Quentin’s breath caught and his eyes flickered between Eliot’s steady eyes.

“Look, El, I—um—” Quentin said, losing his words.

“Yes?”

Eliot’s voice was low and gentle.

Before Quentin knew what he was doing, he moved forward, leaning up and pressing his lips to Eliot’s. Eliot made a small noise of surprise, stumbling back just a little.

Quentin was just about to pull away, his mind finally catching up with his impulse, when Eliot kissed back. He felt Eliot’s hand grasp the back of his neck, his other arm snaking around his waist pulling him close.

The room felt like it was tilting. Quentin wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to breathe again. His heart ached with how much he wanted this.

He had to figure this out, like, _right fucking now._

Quentin pulled away abruptly, breathless, one hand pressed to Eliot’s chest and the other gripping his hip.

“Quentin—” Eliot started, rubbing a thumb against Quentin’s jawline.

His voice sounded so tense, so hopeless. Like he was expecting this to be goodbye.

Quentin met Eliot’s gaze, determination surging in his chest.

“Just trust me,” he said, letting certainty in his voice. “I will figure this out. I swear.”

\---

He was just about losing his mind, so he _had_ to tell someone what was going on. He needed to find Jane and he needed to figure this all out, but he just—he _had_ to get some of this bullshit off his chest. It was freaking him out, holding this alone.

So he found Penny, getting the chance to pull him aside.

“What now?” Penny said as Quentin dragged him, voice tired and flat.

“Will you just—” Quentin pulled him into the bedroom of the castle he’d claimed, shutting the door hard behind them.

He took a deep breath, leaning against the door.

“I’m flattered, man, but I don’t like you like that.”

“God, shut up.”

“I’m just saying. I don’t think we’re at the dragging-me-to-you-bedroom stage yet.” Penny glanced around the room, wandering in a little further. “Huh. Weird to think about you sleeping in a room that isn’t covered in nerd shit.”

“Penny, listen, I—” Quentin felt like pacing. “I have, um, I just. I gotta talk to you, dude, okay?”

Penny stopped moving, turning back towards him. Looking expectant.

“So the truth key, I um—” Quentin started, his words a little rushed. He glanced back at Penny again, whose expression was wholly unreadable. “I. Um. Well.”

“Spit it out, Coldwater,” Penny said gruffly, though Quentin could hear an edge of concern in his tone.

“I think—I think I can’t go back? Um.” Quentin struggled with how to explain what he saw, what he thought it _meant._ “I think… I think I’m Quentin 9.”

Saying the words out loud felt earth-shattering, somehow.  

Penny furrowed his brow. “What are you saying, man?”

“I think I’m supposed to be here. I think I have to be.” It seemed important. Quentin couldn’t put a finger on what that scene the truth key showed him made him feel. Some kind of urgency, almost. Like there was something he needed to do here, someone he needed to be.

“Okay, um—Alright. Well, we can figure this out, okay? Man, it’s—we can get you back there, we just have to—” Penny was talking a little too fast, uncharacteristically keyed up in a way Quentin wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Wait—” he started, sure that Penny was misunderstanding.

“You don’t have to stay here, if we just—”

“Penny—”

“I’m sure there’s—”

“No, Penny, hold up. I _need_ to stay.” Quentin hesitated, running a hand over his hair. “I—I mean, I want to stay.”

Penny froze, looking a little stunned. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long beat of silence, Quentin trying not to fidget as Penny stared him down.

“So I’m stuck with you,” Penny said, hitting Quentin’s arm. There was a note of what Quentin was tempted to call fondness in his voice.

“Guess so,” Quentin said with a wry smile.

“Well, I guess your nerdy bullshit will come in handy around here.” Penny glanced at their surroundings, the stone walls of the castle. “Didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Not what you pictured, huh?”

Penny snorted. “You could say that.” He started to smile. “Have you seen Julia, though?”

“God, she’s loving this so much, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. It suits her, y’know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

Penny took a breath. “So, um. What now, man?”

Quentin almost smiled. “I have to find Jane.”

“Need me to take you anywhere?”

“Thanks, but… I think, um. I think I’ll walk.”

“Whatever, dude.” Penny punched his arm, not particularly softly. “Just come back.”

\---

Quentin clutched the time key in his hand. He found he didn’t want to give it to Jane.

It was like that moment in his memories—

After Eliot had died and he’d found the golden tile. That moment in his life, the moment his life had led up to. The key had appeared in the center of the mosaic, the culmination of their entire life together. An entire _lifetime._ It was a tangible representation of what their lives had meant.

It was a tangible representation of a life he’d never led, a person he’d never be. People he loved in his memory, people he’d never see again.

How could he give that up?

His knuckles were turning white. The key felt precious, irreplaceable. He knew it had a worth outside of the ache in his heart. This was a key that had power, it was the reason these loops existed at all.

But it felt like so much more than what it could do. To Quentin, at least.

He rubbed his thumb against it, letting out a shaky sigh.

Arielle. Teddy. Eliot. The flowers they planted, the door they painted, the life they lived. The colors of those tiles, the magic in the air. The beauty of a quiet life, full of love and hope and pain and loss. Peaches and plums and Fillorian wine.

Quentin would never try to deny his sentimentality. Whatever, he clung to the objects that held meaning for him. His Fillory books were always going to be special. He’d run his fingers along their spines when he needed comfort. He saved gifts and ticket stubs and birthday cards.

He had nothing from that life he remembered. In Timeline 40, he’d saved the letter that older version of him wrote. It was tucked away in a drawer, hidden from his friends, from Eliot. It was all he’d had.

And here? He didn’t even have the letter.

What he had were the memories he was degrees of separation away from, the key he couldn’t keep, the man who refused to believe he loved him.

 

Quentin found Jane exactly where he’d expected to. Near Ember’s Tomb, the spot where Martin’s grave had once been. Or would be in the future. Or the place it would _have_ been, if they hadn’t fixed what was broken about this place.

Time travel made things confusing. In any case, there was no grave there now.

As Quentin walked towards it, he could feel the echoes of what might have been. What could have been. What would never be.

The space where the grave had been wasn’t eerie in the way Quentin had anticipated. It wasn’t a barren rectangle, ominously awaiting a tragic fate. It was just a part of the meadow. Grass and flowers, blending into the rest of the land. Quentin could barely be sure this was the right place.

The only reason he knew was the woman standing there, looking at the grass almost sadly.

Quentin cleared his throat as he approached.

Jane looked up, not appearing surprised. “Ah. Quentin. There you are.”

“Here I am.” Quentin rolled the key over in his palm protectively.

“I suppose you’re here to return the key?” Jane said, holding out an expectant hand. “I will be needing that back, after all.”

Quentin shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning. “Yeah. I, um, I know. But I, uh, I actually have some—some questions. Still.”

Jane dropped her hand back to her side. “Were you expecting answers, then?” Her soft British accent made the words crisp. She sounded amused.

“Hoping for them,” Quentin replied.

“I suppose I’ll explain what I can,” Jane said. Which, well, didn’t sound promising, but it seemed like the best Quentin was going to get.

He, at least, knew the first thing he needed to ask.

Quentin felt his throat tighten. The words were caught; he couldn’t do it. What if he was wrong?

“So are you going to send me back now?” he asked, quiet and tentative. The apprehension creeped up his arms. It was too much. “To Timeline 40? Bring, um. Bring Quentin 9 back?”

Jane smiled kindly. “Oh, Quentin. You must have figured it out by now.”

Quentin cleared his throat, glancing away. “It’s hard to be sure.”

“You don’t even have a wooden shoulder.”

He let out a short laugh, tight with anxiety. “Yeah, well. There are, um. Y’know, spells, where you… switch consciousness, or something.”

“Yes, Quentin 40 is familiar with those, I believe.” Jane paused, taking a slight step forward, tilting her head a little. “You did that memory spell with Eliot. Didn’t you?”

Quentin closed his eyes. “How does this even—God, how does this even work? You, what, borrowed memories from a version of me that doesn’t exist? How does this, like… _How_ does it even work?”

“It’s… more complicated than how you’re looking at it. It isn’t that Timeline 40 doesn’t exist yet. Time loops, they cause… Well. They cause problems.”

“No kidding.” Quentin looked at her, studying her face. He swallowed hard. “You’re resetting the loop.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jane, at least, looked a little uncomfortable. “Yes,” she confirmed.

“After all this? Why?” Quentin let out a sigh, running a hair over his hair. “I mean. We _won._ We won this time.”

“It’s not that simple. Time loops cause _problems.”_ She repeated it emphatically, like she didn’t think Quentin was hearing her. “They cause paradoxes and cycles and alternate versions of people.”

“Entire alternate worlds, really,” Quentin muttered. “Jane, was this worth it? I mean, all the death and suffering in all those other timelines, was it _worth_ it? How did the time loop fix, well, fucking _anything?”_

“You know, time magic is strange,” Jane said. “There is a version of me, existing outside of time, or in a place where time happens all at once. It sort of depends of your point of view.”

“Well, that doesn’t answer anything. Very helpful, thanks.”

Jane seemed a little lost in thought, and Quentin just waited.

“Well, anyway, she has the gift of perspective,” she continued. “On some level, she knows all of this. You. Me. Every time loop that brought us here. Why there had to be forty.”

“So short answer—you don’t know anything. You just follow what you were told to do, and we all pay the price for you.”

Jane smiled gently. “Quentin, this timeline is different. You see that, yes?”

He clenched his jaw. “Sure. You told me in Timeline 40—which I guess I never lived anyway—that every timeline before that failed. But I’m here in this one, and Timeline 9 didn’t get anyone killed.”

“Think of Timeline 40 like a cornerstone—it sets the stability for the other time loops. After all, that was the timeline where you gave me the time key, wasn’t it? Back at the Mosaic? And that’s what started all of this.”

“You know that was me?” His voice broke, just a little.

Jane studied his face, her eyes knowing. Quentin wanted to look away. He just barely kept himself from faltering.

“It must be hard,” Jane said in a careful voice, “to carry all of this. I’m sure it’s heavy.”

Quentin shrugged half-heartedly. He hadn’t given it all that much thought lately, if he was being honest. He didn’t have the option to crumble under the weight.

“I can remove your memories of Timeline 40,” Jane offered gently.

“No,” Quentin said quickly.

She smiled, almost fondly. “I might’ve guessed.”

Quentin blinked, frowning. His pulse had spiked at the idea. “I can’t just—I can’t just _forget_ all of that. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t live it. It was real. It’s still real to me.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Quentin,” she told him.

“It was _real.”_

“I know.”

Quentin couldn’t help the way his heart pounded at the idea of losing all those memories. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose Arielle’s smile, he couldn’t lose the mosaic, he couldn’t lose any of it. Not even the worst parts—not even Timeline 40. He couldn’t forget Alice’s bravery when she was consumed by blue fire, or Eliot’s possession, or Julia’s goddesshood.

Every moment, every painful, agonizing memory, every beautiful one—he needed them. They were a part of him.

He didn’t live it. He knew that—they were memories he’d been given, not memories he’d made.

It didn’t matter. They were _his._

They were real.

“Who would I even be, without these memories?” Quentin said, more to himself than anything else.

“I suppose you’d have to ask Quentin 1.”

Quentin almost laughed.

“Listen, Quentin,” Jane said. “It’s a matter of chances. And choice. Any one of the timelines we have here could be considered the real one. Timeline 40, while it’s the last one, is the beginning in some ways. It’s holding all of this together. Which means it has to happen, to someone.”

Quentin sighed, glancing away from her. “You never said if it was worth it.”

“All of the other timelines must exist in order for this one to,” Jane said softly. “But, to have just one world where my brother was saved? Where he _lived_ and healed and learned to love again? Where something beautiful happened to him? Well. I’d reset the loop a thousand times for that.”

Quentin wanted to hate her for it, but he understood.

He held the time key in front of him, looking down at it as he traced a finger around the triangle. “So you’re going to need this.”

She nodded. “Or this gets erased, too. It always had to be like this.”

He sighed, offering it to her.

She took it delicately. “Thank you, Quentin.”

Her voice was sincere, but it sounded like a dismissal.

Quentin started to turn away but he paused.

“What about my friends in Timeline 40?” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s not your concern. Your place is here. There’s so much left for you to do _here_. So much left for you to _be.”_ She took a small step forward and smiled, leaning towards him and kissing his cheek. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see it.”

_Yeah,_ Quentin thought, surprising himself. _I can’t wait either._


	38. And Here We Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so this is the last Real Chapter of the fic. There are 2 more Not Real Chapters.   
> This is only partially because the idea of having exactly 40 chapters works for me.   
> Anyway, here we are. Thanks for coming with me.

There was something different in the air. Something brighter.

Maybe it was the magic. Maybe it was the opium.

Maybe it was the knowledge that Quentin _belonged_ somewhere. That he had a home here, a family, an entire world that he fit into. A sense of belonging was never exactly something that had come easily to Quentin. It had been overwhelming—the way he’d always felt out of place, like he was ruining the balance of any place he went with his mere presence.

And here he was.

There was something so achingly beautiful about it all. Quentin wanted to _live_ here.

He was _here—_ he was present, he was alive, he felt all of it.

There was a space for him.

He slowed down, taking his time as he made his way back to the castle. He needed to remember every moment of this, every feeling. He needed to hold it close and keep it safe, for the days that didn’t feel like this. He needed to remember how it felt, the day he found his place.

He wanted to tell Julia, to tell Penny, to tell Eliot—he wanted to let them know that he was going to stay.

But he needed to tell himself first.

Timeline 9 was his home. It really was that simple. Wasn’t it?

The strange quality of the Fillorian air—maybe _that_ was the opium—seemed electric against his skin. The sky was overcast, the air heavy with the possibility of rain. He didn’t remember it raining much in Fillory.

The air got misty first, drops of water brushing against his skin as he walked.

And then the sky broke open and it was pouring.

He let the water soak through his clothes, not bothering with magic.

Penny was waiting for him just outside the castle, sheltered in the entrance, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, Coldwater?” he prompted as Quentin walked up.

Quentin shrugged one shoulder. “You’re stuck with me.”

Penny offered half a wry smile. “Good.”

Quentin was almost startled by the low sincerity in Penny’s tone.

_Home._ It really was that simple.

 

Quentin was shivering as he more stumbled than ran through the castle, regretting slightly that he didn’t even half-ass an umbrella spell.

He knocked on the door with possibly more urgency than was necessary.

It took a few agonizing moments for Eliot to open the door. Quentin could see the way Eliot tensed, the way his eyes scanned over Quentin’s body, the way his brow furrowed in apprehension.

“Is there a reason you’re showing up at my door soaking wet, Q?” Eliot said coolly. “This seems a little dramatic.”

Quentin didn’t have it in him to snark back. He didn’t have the capacity to wait any longer to tell Eliot.

“Hey, I—” Quentin started. He broke off, laughing breathlessly. He shrugged, a grin growing on his face. “I’m staying.”

Eliot stared at him. “You’re staying,” he said slowly.

“I’m staying,” Quentin repeated. "In Timeline 9. I'm staying."

“You’re _staying,”_ Eliot said again.

“Will you just—”

“I’m _processing—”_

Quentin shook his head, laughing again. _Eliot._ He went for it, half launching himself into Eliot, throwing his arms around his neck.

It took a moment for Eliot to react.

He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around Quentin’s waist. Hesitantly and slowly at first, but then it seemed to hit him and he tightened his arms.

“God, Quentin,” he breathed. “You’re _staying.”_

Quentin buried his face in Eliot’s shoulder.

“I told you. I told you I’d figure this shit out.”

Eliot pulled away, keeping a hand on Quentin’s neck. He laughed, brushing Quentin’s hair back. “God, you’re soaked.” Eliot cleared his throat, his eyes flicking away. “Do you—I mean. Is staying what you _want?”_

Quentin kept his eyes on Eliot’s, feeling a tug in the center of his chest. “You really have no clue, do you?”

“It’s just a question, Q. Because, I mean—well. If it _isn’t_ what you want, we can—”

“Eliot.”

His voice was soft, just barely steady.

Eliot’s eyes locked onto his. Quentin waited a beat, memorizing the moment. Memorizing the tender look in Eliot’s eyes, the gentle touch of his fingers. Memorizing the way the draft from the castle made him shiver. The way Eliot’s warmth was magnified. The way he _felt,_ like there was nothing he could ever be more sure of in his life.

And then he leaned up and kissed Eliot, a promise in it. As he pulled back, he studied Eliot’s eyes. Trying to convey how much he meant every word.

“I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh.”

 

They were gathered around the portal, saying their hesitant and stilted goodbyes. It was a little strange, how they had brand new concerns now. The world had ended and shifted and widened, and they were all so far from where they’d started.

“The portal is a permanent fixture,” Julia was saying. “We’ll be able to go back and forth through this door. So, um. So we’ll never be cut off. Not entirely.”

She paced as she spoke, keeping her eyes on the door.

 There was an odd mood hovering around them in the room.

“Jesus Christ Superstar, guys, relax. It’s just a fuckin’ portal to another world.” Margo crossed her arms. “No big deal, alright? Like heading to the next room.”

“Well. High King Bambi has spoken,” Eliot said.

Julia stopped pacing abruptly and hugged Quentin, her arms tight. She ruffled his hair when she pulled away.

“You know since we’ve met, we’ve never lived in different places?”

“We’ll _barely_ live in different places,” Quentin replied. “I'm going to get the clock, and it is going to be _in my apartment._ I won’t even be able to lock you out.”

She punched his arm. “Why would you ever want to?”

“It’s time to go,” Alice said. She flicked her hair back, nervous energy coming off of her in waves.

Quentin nodded, offering her half an encouraging smile.

He turned to Eliot, brow furrowed. “I’ll see you,” he said.

Eliot smiled, uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

It was okay, Quentin thought, that Eliot was still hesitant. It was okay that they hadn’t gotten to that comfortable place where they trusted each other unconditionally. It was okay that Eliot couldn’t yet fully believe how much Quentin loved him.

It was okay, because they had time.

They were going to get there. Quentin was sure of it.

He had proof of concept.

 

Quentin had promised Alice he’d help her, but there was something else he had to do first.

He figured Dean Fogg owed him a favor, after everything. Fogg wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea, but well, Quentin was pretty determined to see this one through.

Which was how he wound up here in the Tesla Flexion, in this eerie tent-like enclosure, magic essentially crackling in the air around him.

And then he saw himself materialize in front of him.

Well. The him from Timeline 40.

Quentin 40 looked startled for a moment before their eyes met. “Oh, come _on_.”

It was, to say the least, a little weird to have a version of _himself_ exasperated to see him.

“Um. Hi. I’m, uh, I’m contacting you from Timeline 9?” Quentin felt a lot more awkward than he thought he would.

Quentin 40 sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hey, look, I’m sorry about whatever is going on in your timeline, but I can’t really help.”

“I’m not asking for help,” Quentin said quietly, feeling a strange wave of sympathy.

Quentin 40 frowned, looking at him for a moment. Looking so fucking tired, so drained and empty.

Quentin knew most of what had happened. He knew most of what led to this, even if he was in a much different place now.

“I actually, um,” Quentin said, the whole thing feeling a little surreal. “I’m here to help you. I was kind of, uh, given your memories. So I know what’s going on, and I uh, have something for you.”

“If you have my memories, then you know it’s over,” Quentin 40 replied flatly. “You know there’s nothing left we can do. It’s done.”

“It’s never over,” he replied. “I _know_ you know that.”

The other Quentin just gave him a look, a look with all that familiar hopelessness he’d felt already.

“Trust me when I tell you I know how you feel,” Quentin said quietly. “But listen—there’s a notebook, in Alice’s parents’ library. It’s old and tattered. And it’s full of information on gods. It can help.”

Quentin 40 looked skeptical, but he nodded. “Worth a shot, I guess,” he said. He looked away, sighing. “So, um. What happened? In your timeline. All the timelines before 40 were supposed to end horribly, but you’re clearly not dead.”

Quentin almost smiled. “Just this once, everybody lived,” he said.

Quentin 40 snorted. “Quoting _Doctor Who_ as an explanation,” he said. “Sounds about right. I guess I know how everyone else feels now.”

“It’ll work out,” Quentin said, earnestly. “Just find the book, and ask for help. It isn’t over.”

Quentin 40 didn’t look convinced, but that was okay. Hope took a while to find again once you’d lost it. Quentin knew that. And he, against all odds, knew himself.

And he’d be fine.  

And just like that, the spell was over. Quentin 40 was gone. And there was nothing else that Quentin could do.

 

If Quentin was being honest, it wasn’t in his nature to accept that some things weren’t his responsibility. To accept that he didn’t have to fix everything, he didn’t have to take every problem on. He was only one person, and he’d long since accepted that he was never going to be the big hero of the story.

But it felt good, for once, to let something go.

Timeline 40, he didn’t have control over it. It wasn’t his home. He sincerely hoped they managed to fix everything. He hoped that what little he’d been able to offer would make a difference.

But it was okay that he would never know how it turned out. It was okay that he didn’t have the power to save everyone there.

He was here; he had this.

He remembered Eliot asking him if this place, this _timeline,_ if it would be enough for him.

And it was.

It was enough.


	39. Where We Go: Vignettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is just a very short epilogue.   
> Here we are. Thank you so much for reading. Sincerely.

High King Margo, in the end, wasn’t tethered to Fillory. New god, new rules. She could move freely from Fillory to Earth. Though, honestly? She didn’t take advantage of that very often.

The kingdom was busy, demanding—she had more responsibilities now than she’d ever imagined she would. Every moment, she felt stronger. It was like she was made for this. She felt royal in her blood. She felt like a king to her core. More than any other time in her life, Margo felt like she belonged. Like she really, really belonged. It was her world, it was her kingdom. She had a place.

Josh had stuck around for a while—long enough to train some royal chefs. The novelty wore off on him eventually, and he moved back to Earth to be with Victoria. But he left enough of his culinary knowledge to have his mark around the castle. Margo almost missed him when she ate those muffins that the new cooks _almost_ got right.

Meanwhile, getting to know Fen was a new adventure every day. Margo never could’ve prepared for who they could be together, but it was certainly exciting.

Honestly? Margo was happy. It was a strange and beautiful life.

 

What a world this was—Julia felt alive.

Every moment was an adventure. She explored, she learned, she read, she created. It was the life of her dreams, in many ways. She thought Brakebills was where she was meant to be, but this was so much _more._ Everything she did, everything she was, it all had meaning.

Well, she would’ve liked Fillory better if it at least had wifi and Google, but she was doing her best with the resources she had. She spent time dragging Penny to the royal library, then more time dragging him to the far corners that she read about.

She found the Outer Islands, she found sentient ships, she talked to fairies and trees and nymphs. She got herself into danger and got herself out of it, too. The fairies weren’t so friendly, she found out. The nymphs were condescending. The talking animals were the creatures that were the most welcoming, really.

She was still looking for the mermaids, but that was her next big adventure.

There was _always_ another big adventure.

 

Penny was what he’d been told couldn’t exist—he was a Traveler with a home. A Traveler with a real family. And, as always—there was Julia. Beautiful and brilliant. Penny had a life he never would’ve been able to believe in before.

He didn’t wear his crown very often. It didn’t quite feel like it fit right. It was strange and awkward on his head—too heavy, off balance.

He wore his title just fine, though. He’d never have guessed he could actually do this. When Quentin had crowned him, when he’d realized the weight of who he was becoming, it seemed so out of his realm that he could barely understand the scope of it.

But moving around the world with Julia, meeting the people he had that responsibility towards—Penny felt like not only _could_ he do this, he had to. He needed to. There was an urgency in him—he was starting to understand why Quentin had called him The Just.

And it was kind of amazing, really—how much it meant to him to make this place _good,_ to make it safe. To make it the place that Quentin and Julia and Martin had yearned for when they needed it. Penny couldn’t go back and fix how they’d been disappointed and hurt, but he could make sure it didn’t happen again. He could make sure things were better today than they were yesterday.

It felt like it mattered. He felt like _he_ mattered.

 

Alice was moving forward. The first few days were the hardest, but it helped to have Quentin and Kady on her side, as least at the beginning. Quentin stayed until he couldn’t anymore, telling her what happened to Alice 40, how she had found her humanity again.

Charlie didn’t speak for a while. He huddled on the floor, staring blankly at the wall. He kept his palms over his ears like he was trying to shut everything out.

She read to him—his favorite books and hers. She sang to him, too, even though her voice would crack. She sat with him and talked, told him what had happened since he’d been gone. Told him all about her life, how she came to Brakebills, how she’d missed him.

She made him glass horses.

She was singing to him once—off key, a little scratchy. She wasn’t sure if he was even hearing her, but when she finally sighed and started to leave the room, he spoke to her for the first time.

_Sing it again?_

And she did.

 

Kady kept her life on track. Well, hers and Alice’s. Maybe Alice didn’t come to Brakebills to get an education originally—and maybe she would’ve left. Kady couldn’t be sure. But Kady wanted to be here. They managed to just barely pass their classes that semester—with Alice largely skipping and Kady covering.

Charlie was getting better. It wasn’t exactly a linear path—it was about as chaotic and painful as Quentin had made it out to be. One of the worst days was when Charlie screamed at Alice about how much he hated her. But lately—

Kady couldn’t be sure, but he seemed more human.

As for her family, she had managed to get to a place with her mother where they were getting the occasional lunch together. She did love her mother, and she did want to have her in her life. It was just going to take a while to get to a place where that felt comfortable again.

Her mother was trying, at least. And so was Kady. It wasn’t easy.

But Kady was—well, she was pretty fucking happy, actually. She had Brakebills. She had Alice. She had a life she cared about.

It was kind of nice.

 

Eliot split his time between Fillory and New York. It was possible he wasn’t the best king, but it didn’t really matter. Fillory had a kind, dedicated god, a sharp High King. It had Julia and Penny, hearing the concerns of the people and bringing them back to Margo.

Eliot, for his part, enjoyed the time he spent with Margo. He enjoyed the castle and the food and the aesthetic. But his presence wasn’t required all that often—which worked just fine for him.

There was someone back on Earth he wanted to see.

He got the most use out of the portal. Quentin was waiting for him on the other side, after all.

There was a tugging in his chest, a twinge of insecurity that would hit as he walked through the portal. A fear that was lurking in the back of his mind. A fear that this time, Quentin would be gone. That this place _wasn’t_ enough for Quentin.

There was a part of Eliot that still believed he’d lose Quentin.

With each trip back, with each moment Eliot walked through and Quentin’s face lit up, with each tight hug and sweet kiss, that part of Eliot got a little smaller. A little quieter.

He barely even noticed it anymore.

The fact of the matter was that he loved Quentin, and Quentin loved him. And really? Eliot realized it didn’t have to be more complicated than that. The chaotic jumble of memories they both had, the ones that belonged to them and the ones that didn’t—that was all only part of who they were.

Quentin had been right. Eliot knew that more and more with each passing day.

There was more to them than what happened to them, than who they might have been or who they could still be.

The truth was that Eliot knew who they were together. And if there was anything he could believe in, it was that.

 

_There’s a place for you here, you know,_ Dean Fogg had said after the Tesla Flexion had fizzled out, his voice low and sincere.

Quentin had looked out at the expanse of green. He’d thought about what it could be like. That world he’d wanted so badly, this school that had briefly felt like the moment his life began. He could’ve stayed. He could’ve lived in the Cottage, with Alice and Kady. He could’ve graduated. He could’ve been a part of this world.

It was a path he could’ve chosen, in any case.

_Thanks, Henry_ , Quentin had said, a pang of homesickness in his chest. _But I think I need to move forward._

And move forward he did. Into a life he’d never exactly dreamed of—a life he’d never have fantasized about as a kid.

It was peaceful.

He got an apartment in Manhattan. Amazing what being a Magician could pay for, really. He set up a bookstore underneath his apartment, selling books to the Muggles and trading magic with the Magicians.

It was nice to have the time to read again. Quentin remembered when he was a kid, how the Fillory books had pulled him in, how he’d feel like he was there. He remembered how he’d read books in one sitting and beg his parents to let him get another.

He couldn’t say for sure when he stopped reading. Maybe it was after his sixteenth birthday—that first time he’d been hospitalized. When he’d stopped being himself for a while and he had never been sure how to get back.

In any case, he managed to find his love of reading again. He found his love of stories.

And whenever he wanted, he could reenter the story—going through the clock to the fantasy world his friends were having their own literary adventures in.

Or he could stay at home, and live his own slice of life paperback. The love of his life coming over, making dinner together, laughing and bickering and kissing. The domestic comfort of the beauty of all life.

Quentin was pretty happy with all of it.

He was looking forward to his life.

He never would’ve believed it.


	40. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The story is complete. I started this story with a vague plan, before the Season 4 finale happened, and I am so glad I did. I've loved writing it, and I've loved reading your comments. Thank you so much for sticking with me. It's been great.   
> There is a _possibility_ I will keep writing stories in Timeline 9. (Like a story about Charlie coming back, or Penny and Julia's quests, or some domestic Queliot fluff. Do let me know if there's any specific thing you'd like to see a shorter story about. I like Timeline 9. I live here now.)  
> Sincerely, thank you again. I am endlessly grateful for the support and kind words.

Fillory was an expansive world, with talking trees and magic flowers and questing creatures. The beauty of the place was in how much there was left to discover, how many more special and fantastical things were around each corner.

It wasn’t a perfect place. Where would be the fun if it was?

Martin could see endlessly, into what the land had been, what it was, what it could be. The magic of the world, coaxing lost children into the adventure. Like him and Jane and Rupert, in another life.

He spent much of his time opening doors— cupboards and clocks and closets and caves. People needed to see magic sometimes. When kids needed a safe place to go, Martin could open up a world for them.

Humanity felt a little more distant to him, but Martin couldn’t forget what human beings had done for him. The people who had seen him, saved him, protected him. He checked in on them now and again, to see how their lives were growing and changing—

Images of High King Margo in her throne room, talking strategy and diplomacy, changing laws and making allies—

Of King Penny and Queen Julia spending their days visiting the people, going from town to town in simple clothes and their crowns, speaking to the villagers with kindness and empathy—

Of King Eliot with the portal in his chamber, going back and forth between worlds, coming out of a clock in another place—

And back on earth as well, Martin would look in on those people.

Josh and Victoria, dropping out of Brakebills after all that excitement, moving to a villa in Italy and making friends with the hedge witches—

Alice and Kady, getting back to their lives as they helped Charlie find his humanity, going to class and studying and pulling all-nighters in the Cottage, talking about all their wide, beautiful plans for the three of them after graduation—

And Quentin, with an apartment in New York City, over the bookstore that he owned. The bookstore that sold books to unsuspecting people and traded in spells and magic objects with those who knew better. His bookstore with odd, inconsistent hours, what with the amount of time he spent through the grandfather clock in his living room.

Martin checked in on them all when he could, though it didn’t seem like they needed any watching over. They were all doing fine—their lives weren’t perfect, but they were good.

They had time, they had patience, they had courage. They had hope, they had love.

It was a beautiful world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at official-mermaid, if you like!


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